Wickham Wins
by Laina Lee
Summary: When provided with supernatural intervention, will Wickham will choose redemption or damnation? Watch Wickham make sense of his past, present and future with his angel guide, Rebecca, and what his life could have been like with one sizable alteration as tempted by a demon, Muck. Told from a Christian perspective. A sequel will follow eventually, stay tuned for Wickham's Wish.
1. Prologue

**As the title suggests, Wickham will win. Whether this means he will be redeemed or get his selfish HEA in this life remains to be seen. If Wickham gets his HEA, death and destruction will befall Darcy and others, and whichever occurs we will see what could happen. I do not know the outcome yet as I have not yet written it.  
**

 **I am not going to promise a daily posting schedule on this one as there are still quite a few things that I need to work out, but I will do my best to post frequently, with the plan to be finished before Christmas. The germ of this story has captured my writing brain and caused me to take a hiatus from my Persuasion story. It is possible that at some point the other story will demand more of my attention and cause a delay in this one. As always, I appreciate your support.**

 **Prologue**

Satan decided to he wanted to have a rematch with God over the heart of a man and he knew just how he wanted such a competition to be structured. Thus when they met for their semi-annual meeting to discuss who they had won to their sides, and for God to appeal to Satan to change his ways and rejoin God, Satan was prepared to make his proposal.

Satan told God. "Keeping Job faithful was easy. He was already yours to begin with. It should not be too hard to keep a righteous man, who already followed you to stay committed despite me taking away the people and things that he valued. My actions simply proved to be a refiner's fire that purified him further. God, you can never prove yourself to be stronger than me with such a rigged contest. If you had to make a truly evil man repent and turn to you, while I devoted myself to encouraging him to remain committed to his evil ways, you would lose!"

God, being confident in his skill to bring sinners to repentance, said, "Satan, I am willing to agree to such a contest."

Satan said, "Since this evil-doer is mine, it is only fair that I choose the man that you shall tempt to become good."

God replied, "I will accept your choice, but we must each have an equal opportunity to win this man. I know it will be difficult for you, but you must be honest with him so that he can make his choice with his eyes open. I will obscure my vision of the future so that I will not know which man you will pick or what he will decide."

As Satan was getting to pick the man, he was willing to agree to God's terms. "I can do that," he agreed, knowing that there was still room to interpret what _honesty_ meant and by saying _I can_ he was not saying that he would, only that he was able.

God, of course, knew all of Satan's tricks but believed he could triumph nonetheless.

They negotiated a bit further and agreed that at the conclusion of the contest the man would be granted one wish which would determine whether he had chosen God or Satan. If it was a good wish, God would fulfill it; if it was an evil wish, Satan would fulfill it.

Satan, still wishing to have his way, told God, "My demons are more skilled at influencing man than your angels. Your angels are out of touch with the desires in man's heart."

God knew that Satan was trying to goad him into being just a little less than holier than thou in response and that Satan must want the contest conducted through their intermediaries. Of course God could not be goaded or tempted into acting based on emotions, but God thought it would be satisfying to take the Satan down a peg or two when Satan failed (despite all his tricks and cheating); perhaps Satan would be humbled and this was the first step of many in redeeming Satan from his sin of pride.

Therefore, God responded, "Prove it. One of my angels against one of your demons to influence the heart of the man you choose."

Satan agreed.

God assigned his angel Rebecca and Satan assigned his demon Muck to the task. Each would get the opportunity to show the man through visions where he had gone wrong or right. They could also show the man what would result from a particular wish. Satan, who had gotten all he wanted and more from the arrangement with God, felt himself particularly clever when after all the details were arranged he announced his choice.

As they had not restricted themselves to the here and now (which in the linear time they had met was 1812), God who had done what he said and obscured his vision of the future regarding Satan'c choice, had thought that perhaps Satan would choose Josef Mengel, Nero, Tomas de Torquemada, Judas Iscariot, Pol Pot or Vlad the Impaler. These were all men who enjoyed torturing others and clearly belonged to Satan.

Thus, God, for perhaps the first time in his very existence, was surprised when Satan named his choice: "I choose George Wickham, a soldier in Newcastle, England."

God knew of George Wickham, God knew everyone of course. Wickham was certainly quite bad, but was not without redeeming qualities through those had been obscured more and more in recent years. Wickham was recently married and was gainfully employed. He was on the list of those that could be turned to the right path (though of course having obscured his vision, God did not know how that would turn out).

God's angel had made sure that Jane Bennet's letters would arrive for her sister Elizabeth Bennet just before one Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy would call on her. This was timed so that Elizabeth would blurt out what had occurred, thus putting Darcy on the path of intervening to salvage Lydia Bennet's future and indeed her soul. God knew Lydia would eventually repent and be saved in the next few years though she would never be a model member of his team, but that would not occur before she had undergone many trials (though what they were was obscured too, so he would not know George Wickham's fate).


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Wickham regretted having to marry his latest conquest, Lydia Bennet. However, as he stood waiting to say his vows at St. Clements he consoled himself with the thought that he had done better than he could have anticipated in having his debts discharged and a new position secured, although it really was rather miserly for Darcy to only get him an ensigncy, rather than paying the additional 150 pounds to get him a lieutenancy. He knew that if Darcy had been less honorable that he could have beaten him up or arranged for his murder (Colonel Fitzwilliam probably could have found some ex-soldiers who would be happy to get rid of him for a good payout). Or Darcy could have turned him into Colonel Forster for desertion and whatever discipline that would entail (while in times past he might have been branded with a "D" he doubted Forster would impose punishment that harsh upon him, but having to run the gauntlet or being flogged did not seem desirable and he felt the advantage of instead having Darcy get Colonel Forster to agree to treat it as a transfer). Other options included having him gang pressed into serving on a ship or possibly even transported for his debts.

Wickham was no fool and believed the marital solution Darcy offered to him bespoke of more than just a general desire on Darcy's part to not let him thoroughly compromise this latest Miss (and yes, he had very thoroughly compromised Lydia, many, many times; that she was an enthusiastic if rather ignorant participant in said activities was her chief appeal). Wickham thought Darcy's involvement meant Darcy had a particular interest in the Bennet sisters, specifically one Miss Elizabeth Bennet (Wickham had heard about how he danced with her and no other women not of his party at the Netherfield Ball). Why else would Darcy work so hard to salvage Miss Elizabeth's sister's reputation? Wickham rather doubted any affection Darcy held for Miss Elizabeth was returned and he inwardly laughed at how his well-placed words with Miss Elizabeth earlier, had poisoned the well. And here Darcy was working so hard to fix a situation not of his own making and it would likely all be for naught.

Only Darcy would be stupid enough to make both of them vow to never mention his presence at their wedding or his role in negotiating their marriage. If he truly wanted Miss Elizabeth for a wife (and Wickham could certainly see the appeal in that for she had the same generous curves as his new wife, though on a smaller scale on her smaller frame, plus was a much more skilled conversationalist and had an intelligence that Lydia lacked; while undoubtedly Lydia's superior in many respects, he rather thought Miss Elizabeth was the sort to nag and browbeat a man who was rather too found of drink, gambling and light skirted women, which would definitely put a damper on his life, had he ended up with her as his wife instead of Lydia), Darcy should have made securing Lydia's future contingent on Miss Elizabeth's agreement to marry Darcy. Of course, Wickham supposed, Darcy was still hoping to gain her affection rather than merely her favors.

As Wickham walked out of the church with Lydia (or rather now Mrs. Wickham) clinging more tightly to his arm than he would have wished, he resolved to do his best to make sure Lydia did not let anything slip to her sister, now his sister, Elizabeth. He would let Darcy be an honorable fool and hoped he might be left miserable and alone. Thus once they had traveled to where the Bennet carriage was to meet them, and were safely inside it and on their way to Longbourn, Wickham told Lydia how angry he would become if she mentioned to anyone in her family anything about Darcy's presence at their wedding.

Wickham found himself having to stifle a laugh when his new bride stripped off a glove to show off her new ring to a local gentleman in his curricle. He supposed it good that she had no shame (he certainly intended to fully exploit her lack of shame at every opportunity in their bed).

He felt for the first time when they arrived at Longbourn that Lydia might indeed be his match as they were both confident and self-assured when meeting Lydia's family. Wickham found his new dear mother was also quite delighted with him. If his new sisters blushed and his new father was quite grave and almost entirely silent, it was of no import to either of them.

Wickham enjoyed sitting back and watching the Bennets' reactions to all of Lydia's pronouncements. His new wife talked about what good fun it was to be married and enjoyed stating that she now took precedence over her sister Jane. When she announced that she could find husbands for her new sisters if they joined them at Newcastle and his new sister Elizabeth responded, "I thank you for my share of the favor, but I do not particularly like your way of getting husbands," Wickham inwardly smirked and thought to himself, _she is just as goosey as Darcy, what a pair they would make, I dare say if they married they would be too squeamish to share the same bed_.

Though he had very little regard for his new wife, Wickham did enjoy the way she doted on him and bragged to any who would listen and many more that did not, how wonderful he was in every respect. At night when they were ensconced in the guest chambers, he could not resist goading Lydia with pleasurable activities to scream out his name so the whole household might hear how well he satisfied his wife.

While Wickham had hoped his dear sister Elizabeth's regard for him could be salvaged, he was not too surprised to learn, when he joined her on a walk, that there was no hope for that. She seemed to find amusement in needling him about Mrs. Reynolds saying that he had not turned out well and about her newfound information about his previous exaggerations.

He, therefore, sought to discover what more Elizabeth might know. He wished to resolve the question of whether Lydia had slipped up and told Elizabeth about Darcy's presence at their wedding or how he had arranged all. Wickham half believed that Lydia told her sister every salacious detail.

Wickham mentioned seeing Darcy in town and said, "I wonder what he can be doing there."

Elizabeth's reply, "Perhaps preparing for his marriage to Miss de Bourgh; it must be something particular to take him there at this time of year," seemed rather facetious.

Wickham did not particularly enjoy how the rest of their conversation went. He could not help but notice that Elizabeth walked very fast indeed to get them to the house. In offering her hand to him for her to kiss, she definitely meant to humble him and he decidedly conclusively that she was entirely too sharp for any man to safely marry and that he should provoke her no further.


	3. Chapter 2

**In an illustration of Wickham's depravity, this chapter contains domestic violence combined with an incident which could be considered rape, though it would not have been seen as such in this era.** ** **This is the last chapter before the angel intervenes.****

 **Chapter 2**

Two weeks later after having joined his new regiment and being now well settled into his new duties, Wickham was feeling particularly sorry for himself as he lay in bed one evening. Although he found Newcastle and the society of the other soldiers pleasant enough, Lieutenant Egerton was making him work much too hard and there was no good reason that he could see why the man was his superior (or Captain Watts for that matter) rather than the other way around. Also he was now stuck with the silliest woman in England (Lydia in all her incessant chatter had mentioned that her father applied that appellation to her mother, but Wickham rather thought that his wife had succeeded to the title). It was enough to make him wish he had enough money to get well and truly drunk (besides being limited by his current lack of coin to only the watered rum and small beer supplied to his battalion) and find his pleasures with one of the many whores located in close proximity to their winter quarters.

Although Lydia was at least passionate and willing to learn how best to please Wickham, there was only so much time that could be spent in bed and the rest of the time he was present in their quarters (which consisted of little more than a bed and table) she divided between trying to wheedle money out of him, showering pointless and ridiculous praise upon him, trying to interest him in the local gossip and expressing her abject boredom. When he was occupied with training exercises and his other duties, he knew she spent a good portion of her time walking around the camp to alleviate said boredom and flirting outrageously with the other soldiers. While she enjoyed spending time gossiping with the other wives, she had vehemently refused to perform the washing and cooking that was expected of every woman "on the strength" and, thus, he could not get the wages for her work that he might have otherwise obtained.

Wickham knew their quarters were certainly superior to the barracks where ordinary soldiers and the lower unmarried officers slept (he heard the roof leaked in two or three places, with whichever soldiers were currently being disciplined assigned to sleep under the leaky spots), he missed the constant companionship which had prompted him to join the militia in the first place. In having to stay with Lydia he lost out on most opportunities to participate in the ribald storytelling, games of chance and skill, and sharing in any extra drink. Besides their nightly activities, he was quite bored with Lydia and despised being married. He often fantasized about Lydia dying and a local woman of means making it her mission to console him.

That very evening, Wickham had gotten into a fist fight over Lydia when her flirting at the assembly had resulted in a lieutenant he did not know pursuing her favors in front of everyone by leading her to a corner after the first dance in their set. Wickham, who himself was dancing and flirting with a local beauty, was pulled from the dance by Captain Watts who had seen the pair's actions.

Captain Watts told him, as they hastened to the side, "Your wife is making a fool of you with Lieutenant Thrup; he has been seen touching her bosom while she giggles."

Wickham found it very satisfying to unleash his anger at the whole of his current situation through his fists. He landed two blows while Lieutenant Thrup was still distracted, fingers delving under the top edge of Lydia's gown. Lieutenant Thrup then exchanged a few blows with Wickham as the crowd that had gathered around them watched. The crowd cheered as Wickham landed a hard blow to the man's nose and blood splattered spectacularly, droplets landing several feet away, including on Lydia's gown.

He heard Lydia loudly exclaim, "Oh George, you do love me!" Then she bragged to the little cluster of women who had pulled her from the fray, "See, my husband is so brave and fights for me!"

At these words Lieutenant Thrup turned toward Lydia, mumbling, "Husband?" Wickham took advantage of this distraction to lay the man out.

As they were both members of the same regiment and battalion, though of different companies, Captain Watts (after consulting with the infantry's Colonel) determined that even though Ensign Wickham had attacked a superior officer, that honor required Ensign Wickham's actions and it should be treated as an internal matter with no discipline forthcoming for either man. However, while still at the assembly they were both lectured individually about how their actions harmed the reputation of their regiment.

Captain Watts also advised Wickham, "You need to control your wife. Mrs. Wickham may have had too much wine this evening but she has been making quite a spectacle of herself at camp. We cannot have her distracting soldiers from their duties. Should Mrs. Wickham behave in such an untoward manner again she will be subject to the regiment's discipline and I doubt she would enjoy a public flogging."

Lieutenant Thrup, after his lecture from Captain Watts, vehemently declared, "I had no idea Lydia Wickham was married!"

Captain Watts took a dim view of Lieutenant Thrup's defense. "Lieutenant Thrup, how can by think it acceptable to molest a single woman at a public event? I advise you think about the propriety of such an action. It would be far more prudent to gamble less and save your money to regularly visit the brothel instead."

As Mr. and Mrs. Wickham walked back from the assembly, Lydia kept prattling on and on about how brave and handsome he was and how much he must love her. Wickham made no answer; he was white-hot angry but would do nothing to further embarrass himself while he could be observed. However, as soon as the door was shut, he slapped Lydia hard across her face, hard enough that she tumbled onto their bed.

He yelled, "You are my wife and you best not forget it! You belong to me and me alone. You shall not embarrass me again." He then roughly proved that she was his.

She did not react how he expected she would, desired that she would, perhaps. Wickham was angry enough that he wanted to hurt Lydia by taking what she had previously freely given him. Instead of offering resistance or objecting to his barbaric treatment of her, she wrapped her limbs around him and loudly moaned her appreciation.

Afterwards, she praised him once again, exclaiming, "Oh George, I was terribly jealous of all the other women getting your attention. I did not mean to act improperly with Lieutenant Thrup. How brave you were to take him on and fight for me and to just now prove how much you desire me!"

As Wickham lay in bed after this, Lydia already asleep and wrapped around him, he reflected that he would have to closely guard her. He considered then that despite any nagging he would have incurred about his behavior had he married Elizabeth Bennet instead, he would not have had to worry about her freely giving her favors to another man. He did not consider that his very prior actions with Lydia had perhaps created the beast he now wished to quell.

Wickham was not sure how he could make his wife observe proprieties while fulfilling his duties. She had too much time without any gainful activities. He was worried that despite his best efforts (and he really did not want to put in his best efforts, Wickham never put forth his best efforts into anything if he could help it), he would be cuckolded before too long.

As he was not going to raise brats that were not his own, Wickham knew he had to lay down the law in a way she could understand. His attempt to do so earlier had obviously failed as to his bemusement she had apparently enjoyed his ill treatment of her. Perhaps doing so had even goaded her into finding the justification to pursue even worse future behavior to garner his attention.

He wondered if beating her black and blue would get his point across (perhaps then she would be too embarrassed to wander all over the camp until her face healed), but was concerned that she might be less interested in pleasuring him in bed if he did so. He resolved to wait and see what the aftereffects of his slap were and find out if the mark was suitably pronounced whether it might dissuade her from venturing from their quarters. If it did keep her home, he could perhaps threaten to repeat the action if she acted out again. If necessary, he would make it his business to keep her marked up. He only wished he could keep her tied up like a dog.


	4. Chapter 3

**Just so everyone is clear, this is written from a Christian perspective. Rebecca quotes from the KJV. Anytime you see italics that is what Wickham is thinking to himself. When he communicates with Rebecca purposefully through his thoughts, I use quotation marks.  
**

 **Chapter 3**

Angel Rebecca, who had entered the room in which Wickham was decidedly not sleeping that evening though Lydia was, was very concerned about the state of Wickham's soul. She took her assignment very seriously and meant to do all she could to help him correct his ways. Like all angels, she could hear the thoughts and feel the emotions of the one she was assigned to monitor when in close proximity to him, and she had already perceived in his thoughts self pity, sloth, envy, the desire for drunkenness and debauchery, premeditated cruelty, lack of pity and a cold and calculating heart. She determined there was no time to waste in showing Wickham the error of his ways. She was glad she would be able to take a more direct approach with him as she had heard from his guardian angel (who would now concentrate on his other charges) that Wickham was skilled at ignoring his conscience as pricked by his angel's touch.

Rebecca had considered carefully as to how best to work on Wickham. She was not sure why she was selected for this most important of assignments. She well knew how unworthy she was for it (like all of the best angels she was extremely humble). Thus she had spent a good deal of time praying for divine inspiration of how best to reach Wickham (though God was available to the angels, she preferred praying to direct conversation, knowing that he had all of humankind to concern himself with reaching). The answer had come to her all of the sudden fully formed as all the best ideas were, perhaps in fulfillment of her prayer. She decided to employ a technique explained in what would later become a book by a man who had just been born.

As God existed beyond space and time and had a non-linear existence, he enjoyed sometimes sharing things with his angels before they existed in their current present and, therefore, Rebecca had read A Christmas Carol as part of God's book club on how to inspire repentance. Rebecca thought this was a clever approach as a model. Additionally, she believed Muck would be unlikely to be familiar with this book as she highly doubted that Satan was similarly generous in sharing future literature with his demons. Muck would not know what approach she had taken until he communicated with Wickham and she hoped Muck would have trouble combating it if he did not even know who Dickens was.

Rebecca decided it was time to make herself known to Wickham as it did not appear he would be falling asleep anytime soon, despite Lydia snoring softly beside him. He had just wriggled himself free from her embrace and thought, _Perhaps I should get up, steal a horse and leave Newcastle behind. Surely I can remake myself as something better without Lydia as baggage. Of perhaps I should just stay in bed and seek further pleasure from Lydia's warm and willing body instead; I can always leave tomorrow._

Wickham could not see Rebecca, who did her best not to notice his lustful nakedness as he reached a hand towards Lydia. Rebecca laid a transparent hand upon Wickham's forehead, which stilled his body, so that Rebecca could speak to him and give him his first vision.

Wickham felt a calm steal over him as a warm lilting voice said, "Mr. Wickham, I am an emissary of God. He wishes you to mend your ways and turn from sin. For as it says in Romans 6:23, 'For the wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.' It is not too late to redeem yourself. God is waiting to embrace you as his true child. He loves you. His sacrifice of his Son was made to save you and your fellow sinners. God will forgive you your transgressions if only you will repent and seek his help."

Rebecca showed a vision of Wickham on his knees crying and praying, God embracing him and the whole congregation of angels cheering. She could tell that this vision bothered him as he tried to wrest himself from that position, asserting, "I will bow to no one, I alone am the master of my own destiny."

She let him separate himself from the Wickham in the vision so that he was standing as an observer beside her in the vision. Thus there were two visions of Wickham, the one repenting which did not contain his consciousness, and the one at her side which did. She was pleased to note that the one beside her was fully clothed.

"Do not fool yourself," she told him, "if you continue sinning you are making yourself a servant of Satan. 'Know ye not, that to whom ye yield yourselves servants to obey, his servants ye are to whom ye obey; whether of sin unto death, or of obedience unto righteousness?' as written in Romans 16:16."

Rebecca could tell that Wickham was doing his best not to listen to anything she said and believed himself to be asleep and dreaming. He thought, _How is it that I have somehow memorized such verses?_ He then considered, _As this is a dream I must be making up what they say._ Rebecca knew about dreaming, but she did not sleep and, therefore, did not dream. She did not want Wickham to discount what she told him as being merely a dream.

"You are not dreaming," she told him.

"You do not exist," he replied. "You are only a character in my dream."

"Open your eyes," she directed, "and you will see that you are awake. Feel my touch upon your brow; this is how I am communicating with you."

"If I open my eyes in a dream," he told her, "I will still be dreaming, it will only be that the dream has shifted."

"Open your eyes and then get your wife to confirm that you are awake," Rebecca instructed. She hated to have him rouse Lydia, who needed her sleep especially now, but thought that Lydia would likely be able to go back to sleep quickly and even if she did not, waking her was worth it in the attempt to redeem her husband's soul.

He opened his eyes then, looked around, wiped his brow to alleviate the slight tingly sensation he felt that was is fact her hand, and closed his eyes again, thinking to himself, _It was just a dream, a dream that woke me up_.

"I am not a dream!" Rebecca declared. "Open your eyes again and I will make myself more visible."

Wickham opened his eyes, blinked a few times and saw the little light in the room coalesce around a figure on the side on the left side of his bed, the side next to him. He reached out his hand to his forehead and was able to perceive a pressure between his hand and his forehead. It was slightly cool and much less dense than ordinary flesh. It almost felt like water or a thick mist.

"Do you believe I am here now?"

Wickham shook his head "no" and thought to himself, _What a strange dream_.

Seeing that he would not do it, Rebecca leaned across George and began lightly shaking Lydia.

"Leave me alone George, I am so tired," Lydia mumbled before falling back asleep.

Rebecca placed her free hand on Lydia's forehead and told her forcefully, "Wake up and tell your husband what you see."

Lydia blinked slowly and opened her eyes before shutting them again. "Blow out the candle, George," she mumbled, "It is too bright, it hurts my eyes."

Wickham turned from Lydia to Rebecca, and observed that whatever he was seeing had grown much brighter. It was as if the glow of the full moon was reflected on undulating water in the vague shape of a human that was neither man nor woman and too tall by half.

"Do you believe me now?" Rebecca asked by speaking directly into his thoughts.

Wickham sat up and tugged on his own hair until it hurt, bit his finger hard, pulled it from his mouth and watched by the other worldly light as a small drop of blood formed and then dripped down his finger. He put his finger in his mouth and tasted the blood.

"I must be awake," he admitted to her in his thoughts, "but this is so strange as to seem to be a dream."


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"You may shut your eyes, Mr. Wickham," Rebecca said. "It is easier to see my visions while your eyes are closed and I prefer to be visible in your mind rather than where others could see me. It is rare that we want mankind to see us as we are."

Wickham closed his eyes and saw he was standing beside the being he had seen at his bedside. They were together in a meadow at Pemberley ringed with hills covered with trees in a full autumn display. From the look of it, it was well past Michaelmas, perhaps a mid or late October day, with a few brilliant red and yellow leaves swirling in the air from the breeze. The field had long been shorn of hay. It was approaching evening with the sky a darker blue and there was a chill in the air, though it may have been quite warm earlier. It was just as he remembered it from when he was a lad, but much more vivid with every detail he had long ago forgotten. If he was not mistaken, this was Pemberley as it was when he was yet a boy as a couple of details were different than the Pemberley he saw last.

"What are you and how are you doing this?" Wickham spread his arms out wide, gesturing around himself.

"I am an angel sent from God." Rebecca answered. "I know your whole life and I know you were quite happy here when you were a lad and still friends with Fitzwilliam Darcy."

Wickham shuddered at her knowledge. _I wish this was a dream_ , he thought to himself, _yet I can still feel a slight throb in the finger I bit, and a metallic taste in my mouth._ He opened his eyes for a moment, blinking to adjust to the dim light, just to prove to himself that he could, that he was indeed awake, then closed his lids again. As soon as his eyes were closed again, the image of Pemberley was again before his eyes. He wanted to walk around and take it all in. Pemberley had indeed been his home, but now he was no longer welcome there.

"Why are you showing me what I can never have again?" Wickham asked the angel beside him, who was mostly formless and bright.

"I have been tasked with aiding you in making your choice either in favor of God or Satan. I will show you three visions, of your past, the present and what your future will be if you do not change your ways. This will be the setting of the vision of your past. I will also show you the effect of how your life could be changed by the making and fulfillment of a wish in this life. When I am finished, a demon will be sent to tempt you to continue on the road to the pit. He will also show you the effect of one wish. Wickham, do not be fooled by the demon. All either of us can give you is a different life in the here and now. However, in the hereafter your wish will determine whether you gain your eternal reward from God or receive eternal damnation in the lake of fire. After we are done, you will be granted one wish of your choice. Choose wisely as the fate of your eternal soul rests upon that choice."

Wickham found it disconcerting that an angel and thereby God would take an interest in his life and recreate it is such exacting detail. That must mean there was a God and God was much more powerful than Wickham could ever be. He remembered hearing when yet a small child that God could see everything. It had been years since Wickham had discarded the idea that there was truly a God; it was easier to act in whichever way he desired if there was nothing more than the here and now. For a long time God had just seemed as irrelevant as a fairy tale. He did not like being confronted with the reality that there was a God, especially as he knew he had done many things that deserved punishment.

It also seemed that Satan must be real as well. _She speaks of a choice_ , he thought, _but why must I choose between these figures? Why can I not be left alone?_

"No one is alone," she answered, "and this is the choice that every man must make, whether he understands it or not."

In the daylight of the vision, Wickham turned to look at the angel more closely. She, he thought of her as a "she" based on the voice he heard in his head, was too bright to look at directly, though she did not exactly hurt his eyes like staring at the sun would.

To make things easier for him, Rebecca told him, "You may choose my form."

Rebecca had received a thorough briefing on Wickham from her superior, who also imparted all of Wickham's experiences to her (though not all his thoughts and feelings about said experiences). Thus, when she felt her outward appearance change she was easily able to recognize through Wickham's perception the figures she resembled as Wickham tried to decide on her appearance; first she looked like Wickham's mother, then Lady Anne and finally Jane Bennet (soon to be Mrs. Bingley), clothed in a morning dress.

"Why this form?" Rebecca asked.

"She seems the most angelic of all of my acquaintances," he told her, "also, although she is beautiful I have not had too many lustful thoughts about her, which I thought might be easier for you."

Rebecca smiled with Jane Bennet's smile, gently nodded her head in a very Jane Bennet like manner, and said, "Thank you." She was hopeful that this consideration he had shown her did in fact mean that he could be reached.

"Should I call you Jane-I have at least that level of familiarity with my new sister-or do you have your own name?"

Rebecca hesitated. Her own name was not important, she was here on God's behalf and not her own. However, she was not sure she wanted to be called Jane as that was almost a lie, though she and Wickham both knew she was not Jane.

"You may call me Rebecca," she answered. "Perhaps you can change me slightly so I do not look exactly like Jane."

Her form wavered briefly as Wickham decided on the change, which ended up being that her hair lightened to almost white and her eyes turned from blue to green. Rebecca wanted to thank him again, but did not want to appear weak or make him think she was beholden to him, so she refrained.

"How would you like to be addressed?" She inquired.

"Let me see," Wickham considered, "I suppose Lord and Savior would be too blasphemous to you and handsomest man alive would be dishonest. Wickham will be fine, though it would be fun to hear you moan, 'George!' as Lydia has on occasion." She felt a flicker of lust pass over him. While desire for his wife was all that was good and proper (as it was appropriate to marry rather than burn with lust), the lust she felt from him now was directed at herself in this form and she did not like it. She decided there was no time to waste in trying to redeem him from all his baser instincts.


	6. Chapter 5

**I woke up yesterday knowing what Wickham's wish will be. I am super excited to write the chapters that will get us there! But first, let the visions begin.**

 **Chapter 5**

"Are you ready for your first vision?" Almost Jane asked him.

 _Am I?_ Wickham wondered. He was not all that eager to begin whatever was to follow, but he also did not like waiting. He felt like a horseman waiting for a race to begin, nervous with anticipation and half hope and half dread. He felt his hands, which he knew were not real hands but the hands of his vision, slightly shake and sweat.

"I suppose," he answered.

He expected something to happen right then but instead Rebecca swept first one arm out and then the other. "Do you remember today? Many important things happened today but earlier in the day. Everything was long concluded by the time evening approached."

Wickham felt a prickle tickling the back of his head as the knowledge burst suddenly from him. "Is it _that_ day? When Darcy almost . . ."

The fear he felt then in recalling it caused his body to shake. _I was so scared, no time to think, only time to do."_

"You still belonged to God then," Rebecca said wistfully. "You were very brave and selfless, but something changed afterwards. In doing right, everything began to go wrong."

"Yes," Wickham replied, "I did not expect what followed. We were no longer friends after that." _Betrayed! Cast aside! I did not deserve it._

"No you did not," Rebecca answered even though he had not been talking to her.

"Stop doing that," he told her, "I need my privacy, my own thoughts."

"But I hear both those directed at me and those that are not. I am to help you." She genuinely seemed confused.

"Can you tell the difference?"

She nodded.

"Please, Rebecca, cannot you at least ignore those that are private? Even if you cannot not hear them?" _I need to remain myself, separate from her and Him._

"I will try. Are you ready to see it again, from the outside? Only by seeing what went wrong can we start to set it right, at least in how you feel about it. This is just a vision of the past, you cannot change it and no one can see us."

 _I suppose I am ready._

Rebecca waited until he remembered himself and announced, "I am ready."

She gave a slight smile then, but her eyes remained sad. Suddenly there was mist everywhere, he had the sensation of falling and he could see nothing and no one.

"Rebecca?" He cried out, terribly and irrationally afraid that he was dead and alone.

"I am here." He felt her grab and then squeeze his hand. "Look it is clearing already."

Wickham saw that indeed the mist was vanishing and he could see the backs of two boys playing beside a pond, one dark haired with curls atop a sturdy body and the other with lighter brown hair and a much thinner frame. He knew who the dark haired boy was, which must mean the other boy was him. _Did my hair really look like that from the back?_ Wickham wondered.

"If it bothers you that much, you can open your eyes the next time it changes and you may not even feel the change," he only half heard Rebecca's words as she released his hand.

"All right," he said absently, his focus almost entirely on the scene before him. Wickham walked forward and to the side of the boys so that he could see them better.

"I need to get my boat!" The dark haired boy insisted. "Why did you not grab it from the stream before it reached the pond?" He looked angry, his face reddening.

Wickham recollected, _That is the same expression he had (though his face of before is softer and rounder with his youth) that he gave me when he told me I could not still have the living, I would not be marrying Georgiana and then that I would be marrying Lydia. It is that same expression that he gave me when we first saw each other in Meryton with him literally on his high horse. I hate that expression!_

"I had to get my own boat!" The boy Wickham-he would have been eleven years old then-declared, his own wooden boat clasped to his chest.

"No, you should have gotten my boat first," the boy Darcy insisted.

"No, we are each to look after our own boats," the younger Wickham responded.

Wickham remembered this argument; in reflecting on it over the years he had wondered if Darcy had been as unreasonable as he remembered, but so far the words confirmed his impression of them from so long ago.

"Go get my boat, George, it is getting farther from shore!"

Wickham saw his younger self glance in the water, Wickham could not help but also look at the small wooden boat bobbing in the water. He remembered the grizzled old sailor, turned ashore after an injury to return to his son in Lambton, who had taken to constructing toy boats to sell at the knickknackatory.

As a boy, George had long admired the most detailed of the sailor's boats, modeled after an English man-o-war displayed in the shop window upon a blue sea formed of rippled cloth, but there was only one local father that could afford it without hesitation. Thus, Master Darcy received it from his father who, knowing Mrs. Wickham's spending left little funds for any kind of toys for George, was kind enough to purchase one of the lesser vessels for George. This followed as an extension of a pattern where Fitz's toys which had seen much use were passed onto George when Fitz received new ones (along with Fitz's clothes, as he was the larger though a few months younger). Fitz had not had a wooden boat before this one, which is why Mr. Darcy had bought him one. George's own boat, modeled on a frigate, was one of the rare new toys he remembered receiving, had been the most beloved of his toys. _I loved that boat_ , he recalled.

Wickham did not remember being envious of Fitz as he had known he could never have that that glorious man-o-war for himself. He only remembered being grateful to Mr. Darcy and hugging the hard boat to himself as the two fathers talked.

When Mr. Wickham questioned the expense of the gift, Mr. Darcy told him, "It is only right that you allow me the privilege as his godfather of letting me give my godson a gift. But if you must know, I also thought Fitzwilliam would get more enjoyment out of sailing it if the two boys could sail them together. I had a toy boat as a lad, as did my older brother. We sailed them on Pemberley's stream together . . ."

Wickham remembered Mr. Darcy looking sad before he continued, "Fitzwilliam and George should have the full enjoyment of their youth while they can."

Later, he had asked his father what happened to Mr. Darcy's older brother and his father explained, "Henry Darcy died of a fever when he was ten and five or six. That is right old for a childhood illness to take one away. Mr. Darcy also had a young sister who passed away from the same illness within days of her brother. Mr. Darcy was left the only Darcy child, the last of his line before Mr. Darcy married Lady Anne and had Fitzwilliam. You are fortunate, George, Mr. Darcy almost thinks of you as his own son. He can give you opportunities I cannot."

"Because of Mother?"

"Partially, but even without her spendthrift habits, you and I could never have the status or money of a Darcy."

All these memories swirled through George's mind as he watched Fitz's boat on the pond. It was indeed drifting away from the shore. Wickham remembered when he was that younger Wickham considering going after the boat. He was a good swimmer, a natural swimmer, could not remember a time when he could not swim, but his father had insisted that one must never go swimming without an adult supervising. It was too easy for disaster to strike and death to occur. He also remembered knowing that while the day was warm, it was still autumn and the water was likely quite cold.

"No Fitz, we are not to swim without an adult."

Fitz's face was still red with anger. "It is your fault that my boat is there, you need to go get it. Your father works for me father, so you work for me."

"I won't do it!" George insisted. Wickham wished he had just gone into the water earlier. Darcy was not right for insisting on it, but in seeing the scene play out once again before him, as it had in nightmares afterwards where he woke in a sweat knowing that Fitzwilliam was gone, Wickham dreaded what he knew was to come.

"Fine, Georgie is scared!" Fitz said the last phrase in a teasing manner, daring him to prove his bravery by getting the boat. Fitz, hands on hips, waited, looking at George.

"And you are not?" His younger self asked.

Wickham saw then a detail that he did not remember from before: Fitz swallowed hard, his eyes wide with what must have been fear. Wickham remembered that he had not meant his response as a sort of dare, but Darcy must have perceived it as such.

Fitz shook his head, gave a determined, stubborn look, and began stripping off his clothes.

"No Fitz, don't do it!" George entreated and Wickham could see the fear writ large upon his own young face.

He remembered considering whether to insist to Darcy that he would do it instead, as Darcy was not a good swimmer at that age. Darcy could roughly dog paddle but was very slow (as he kept his body in too much of an upright position) and tired easily. He mostly pretended to swim by wading out deeply, which worked most of the time as he was rather tall for his age. However something deep inside of the younger Wickham had cried out that he could not let Darcy goad him into doing something that he knew was not safe and he also thought that perhaps Darcy could reach the boat by simply wading.

"Let us go back to the house and get someone to help us. Or maybe Mr. Silas in the stable."

"No," Fitz stubbornly refused, his jaw set in a manner that said he could not be moved, "we were not to let our boats go into the pond." He continued to strip and then started to wade into the pond while George watched.

At first all seemed well, Fitz walked several feet in before the water even reached his knees and a few more feet before it reached his waist. Although the man-o-war was still drifting, it drifted slowly.

Wickham watched, feeling the fear build up inside him, as it had when he was a boy, as he tried to calculate whether Fitz would reach the boat before the water was too deep. Now the water was almost to Fitz's shoulders but the boat was only about arm's length away. He could only see the side of Fitz's face, but the part he saw seemed scared.

"Get a little closer before you try to reach it," he called out, unable to contain himself. It was what he had been thinking when a boy, but he had not said it aloud then.

Fitz, as Wickham knew he would, tried to grab at the boat and ended only knocking it farther away.

"Come back Fitz!" His younger self urged helplessly, seeing the moment that Fitz cast off from that last bit of ground beneath his feet and started to swim. Again he made progress towards the boat, but again his efforts to grab it only sent it spinning and drifting farther away. George ran along the side of the pond, trying to get as close as he could to Fitz. Fitz's swimming began to take on a slightly panicked quality, the water roughly splashing with his efforts, though he still stubbornly tried to pursue the boat.

Wickham remembered wanting to go after Fitz then, but remembering being told that someone in the panic of drowning could cause the drowning of his would-be rescuer and Fitz was so much bigger and heavier than himself. So instead George man toward a large fallen branch, dropping his boat without a thought as he reached to grab the branch. It was too big for him to left, but he managed to drag it as he walked forward and into the water toward the struggling Fitz

Wickham felt proud of his younger self then. "You can do it, George," he called more to himself than to the boy he was then. His younger self strode resolutely forward, paying no mind to the water soaking his clothes, pulling the branch until a good portion of it was in the water and started to float.

"I am coming Fitz," the George called, "almost there." His younger self started turning the now fully floating branch so that the thicker and more buoyant end was getting closer to Fitz.

Both Wickham and his younger self saw the moment when Fitz went from still partially swimming to full on panic.

"You can do it, George," he yelled encouragement at his younger self once again."

"He cannot hear you," Wickham heard Rebecca tell him.

"I know," he mumbled back, all of his attention focused on the drama unfolding before him, knowing how cold they both were as he felt the warm sun beating down upon his own back in the vision.

Wickham saw the moment when his younger self understood that he could not get the branch to Fitz in time, and gave the branch one final vigorous tug to keep it drifting in the direction of Fitz before he himself left the safety of the bottom to strike out towards Fitz with powerful strokes, though slowed down by his soaked clothes.

Though the Wickham that was watching knew that he could do nothing, he found himself striding in the water toward the two boys. He could feel the water against him, ice cold through his clothes, but his movements did not make so much as a ripple in the water.

As Wickham continued to get closer to the two boys, he gasped as he saw his younger self, soaked, exhausted already, small and vulnerable, reach an arm towards Fitz and saw Fitz grasp it. He saw Fitz's face, pale from being in the cold water, in a panicked expression as he tried, far past all rational thought, to pull George into an embrace that could drown them both.

His younger self stroked forward and sideways with his free arm, holding his captured arm as far from his body as possible and used powerful frog kicks to swim toward the branch even as Fitzwilliam pulled his arm in the opposite direction which could mean a watery grave for the both of them.

Wickham was now only feet from them, almost shoulder deep himself as he chanted, "Keep swimming George, that is it, kick, kick, kick, you are strong enough, you can get there, you will save him and yourself."

He saw how close a thing it was as his younger self reached out toward a smaller limb of the branch while Fitz was inexorably pulling himself closer to George's torso. Would George reach the limb first or would Fitz pull him under in his panic?

Wickham knew how it would turn out, but still his heart raced as he urged his younger self to reach farther, swim faster, and above all get to that branch. Fitz grasped more tightly onto George and the two dipped down in the water as George kicked with all his might and reached, reached, and finally grasped a tiny edge of the branch, which heaved down into the water, turning the limb toward them. George kicked again and somehow, _How is he doing it?_ , managed with his free hand to grab hold of a cracked edge and pull. Wickham held his breath as the limb drifted closer to George and then watched as George swung his other arm in the direction of the limb, Fitz still grasping at George, not realizing that the limb was right in front of him and could better bear his weight.


	7. Chapter 6

**This is really the second part of Chapter 5.**

 **Chapter 6**

Wickham watched, helpless, as George fought to maintain his grasp on the tree limb while Fitz grabbed him ever tighter. Wickham could see how exhausted George was, his face barely above water while Fitz's face was further up as he had half-climbed upon George's back.

"Tell him to let go!" Wickham urged his younger self. "Hold on tight, George." Wickham remembered how hard it was to hang on and keep kicking to get them to shore.

"Fitz, you are drowning me," George told Fitz, "loosen your grip and grab the log with one arm."

Fitz seemed to become more aware of what was going on. He looked around, wild eyed as he clung to George, then mumbled, "I am scared George, but I will try." Without letting go of George with his one arm that was snaked around George's middle, Fitz tentatively let go with the other arm and reached toward the limb and a jagged outcropping where a smaller piece must have earlier broken off. George, seeing what Fitz was trying to do, tried to angle his body closer to that part of the branch.

Finally, after an interminable time which seemed like hours to Wickham, Fitz grasped the chunk of branch. Although he loosened his grip on George somewhat, he did not let go.

"Kick with me," George instructed and Fitz tentatively began to kick while George tirelessly continued his frog kicks. Wickham remembered how much his legs had ached, but he knew he could not stop or all would be lost. They were making slow but steady progress to the shore.

"My boat!" Fitz suddenly remembered.

"Not now, we need to get to shore." George did not say what he remembered thinking at that time, _I never want to see that boat again._

After another five minutes or so of kicking, George asked, "Can you walk on the bottom yet?"

Fitz slid down a little and the answer must have been "yes" because he began to walk through the water, pushing the log toward the shore.

"I have you, George," Fitz declared. Now his grip on George was holding him up instead of dragging him down. In a few moments, George stretched out his legs and realized that he, too, could walk. However, both of them kept holding onto the log until they were bending down to keep doing so. Then, together, they let it go. George swayed on his legs, pale and shaking badly. Fitz leaned the smaller boy against him and they walked together to the shore.

George collapsed on the edge of the pond, unable to walk anymore. His feet, in his ruined and heavy shoes, were still in the shallow part of the water.

Fitz, with a burst of energy, walked over to his clothes and began to dress. When he was finished, he walked back to George.

"Can you walk?" Fitz asked.

"No," George answered.

"I will go get help," Fitz declared and ran off.

Wickham through the whole ordeal had stayed beside his younger self. He could see the utter exhaustion in every line of George's body. His eyes were closed and other than his ragged breathing and the slight rise and fall of his chest, he was devoid on any animation.

"You did well George," Wickham told his younger self. "You saved that arrogant prick from the effects of his own pride. Maybe you should have let him drown."

"You do not mean that," Rebecca told him, suddenly at his side. "Your younger self loved Fitz as a brother and true friend. George wanted more than anything to save Fitzwilliuam, would have paid his own life for it if that was asked of him. He was selfless and a true hero."

"And what did he get for it?" Wickham asked. "Nothing," he answered himself, "nothing but trouble."

"Young George did not expect anything from his efforts except that his friend would live. He did not act as he did for a reward."

"Yes," Wickham answered, "but he did not expect a kick in the teeth."


	8. Chapter 7

"You know this part," Rebecca commented. "Do you want to know what happened when Fitzwilliam went to get help?"

"Yes," Wickham replied. He was tired of feeling helpless to do anything to assist his younger self who was trying only to live. At least he could discover the whole story besides what he had pieced together over the years.

"I am about to shift the vision," Rebecca told him, "so you may want to open your eyes."

"If I could be brave enough to almost drown, I can be brave enough to face that mist again," he responded.

Rebecca preemptively held his hand. It felt nice, like when his mother held his hand when he was quite small.

The mist came again and while a bit of fear pricked him, it was much less than last time. When it cleared he no longer felt the wet of being in the pond; the mist had apparently taken it away. He was outside the stable and saw Fitz run past him, calling, "Help, help." Wickham was not the only one who heard Fitz as Mr. Silas, the stablemaster came running out of the stable.

"What is wrong, Master Darcy?" Mr. Silas seemed concerned but calm. Wickham remembered him as always very deliberate in his actions, waiting until he knew what was the matter before acting.

"It is George, he is hurt, he was in the pond but I got him out."

Mr. Silas put a hand on Fitz's shoulder and asked, "Is he breathing, son?"

"Yes, but he is very cold and cannot walk."

By this time three stable hands had joined Mr. Silas. He told the first one, "Eddie, fetch blankets from the stable and hitch a team to the wagon." He told the second one, "Michael, run to the house and tell Mrs. Reynolds that Master Darcy is with me and to prepare a warm bed and hot tea and ale for George Wickham; then go find Mr. Wickham and tell him his son is ill and we are bringing him to the main house." He told the third one, "John, take a horse and ride for the apothecary, it seems we have a near drowning on our hands." Each man ran off to do his bidding. Wickham stayed, watching Mr. Silas and Fitz.

Mr. Silas, apparently waiting for the wagon to be readied, turned to Fitz. "What happened? You boys know you are not to go swimming without an adult and even a warm October day is too late in the season for it."

"My boat got sucked into the pond. I . . . I told George we should fetch you and ask for help, but he went in after it. He was having trouble getting it and I went in after George and rescued him."

"Ah, so that is how it started," Wickham commented to himself. He felt a fiery rage sweep through him. _What a little self-serving weasel he was_ , Wickham thought. _I lay chilled to the bone, suffering alone and he blamed me for his own actions, took credit for my suggestion to fetch Mr. Silas, placed all the blame for my condition on me and cast himself as the hero._

Rebecca felt Wickham's rage as almost a physical blow to her. It was overwhelming and much stronger than she had anticipated. She hoped she had not made a mistake in showing him this event from his past. She knew that this event was the turning point in Wickham's life, and needed to be dealt with if he was ever to have hope of changing his ways.

Mr. Silas gave Fitz a hard look that said "There is something wrong with your story."

"I am glad that Mr. Silas did not believe him," Wickham commented, his rage lessening but only slightly.

Rebecca remained silent.

Fitz was spared from any further questioning when Eddie returned with the wagon and blankets. Mr. Silas wrapped one around Fitz, picked him up and placed him in the back of the wagon, the two men got onto the driver's bench (while Wickham and Rebecca climbed into the wagon atop the pile of somewhat scratchy horse blankets) and set out for the pond. It took only a minute or two for the wagon to reach the pond. Almost before the wagon stopped, Mr. Silas sprang out, blankets already in his hands and ran to George.

George was visibly shaking from the cold, though otherwise he was mostly still. Wickham remembered how cold and tired he felt then, though the memory of it was less disturbing than seeing it from the outside. He believed, in seeing his younger self in that moment, that he had come very close to dying, would have died if help had not come soon enough. He imagined he should be grateful that Fitz had at least done that much, but Wickham was still filled with rage over what Fitz's actions had cost him.

Mr. Silas called, "George," to which George opened his eyes. Mr. Silas spared no time in sitting George up. He then stripped off George's soaked shirt and wrapped him in one of the blankets. "We have got you now."

Eddie was out as well and it was he that drew a knife and cut through the laces in George's shoes when he could not remove them. The two of them stripped the remaining clothes from George's body and wrapped him well in the blankets. While this was going on, Fitz did nothing but stare wide-eyed at the scene unfolding in front of him.

Together, Mr. Silas and Eddie carried George to the back of the wagon and Mr. Silas instructed, "Master Darcy, sit with your friend as we return to the house. Make sure his blankets stay on him."

Wickham did not remember clearly this sequence of events, but did remember Mr. Silas helping him, feeling less cold, the cold replaced with a burning sensation as feeling began to come back into his limbs, and the bouncy, jarring feeling of the wagon. He certainly did not remember Fitz cradling him across his lap, his head on Fitz's shoulder, Fitz's arms wrapped around him, repeating over and over, "You will be all right George." Wickham observed that his younger self was still deathly pale, doing little else than breathing.

When they reached the house, a flurry of activity took place as his younger self was sorted out, given hot drinks and put in a guest bed warmed with hot bricks. However, Wickham did not stay with his younger self overly long, and was in time to follow Mr. Silas into Mr. Darcy's study.

Mr. Darcy ran a hand through his hair, a gesture Wickham recognized as one shared by his son when he was especially perturbed. "How did George come to be so chilled and in that pond in the first place?"

"Master Darcy's account is that George went after Master Darcy's boat in the pond and Master Darcy rescued him."

"That does not make any sense," Mr. Darcy replied, running his hand through his hair once again and pacing back and forth a couple of times. "George is very faithful about following the rules his father and I set for the boys. It is George that usually keeps Fitzwilliam out of trouble. And my son is not a strong swimmer compared to George. I doubt my son could rescue anyone from the pond. This story of my son is all backwards and sideways."

"I agree," Mr. Silas responded, "but I doubt he will amend his story. To find out the truth, you will need to speak to George, but he is in too sorry of a state to give any account as of now."

"He will recover, he must recover, he shall have all the care that we can provide to him. I could not face his father if anything happened to George because of my son." Wickham saw tears glistening in Mr. Darcy's eyes, though none fell. "George is like a second son to me; he is as loyal and faithful as his father. He deserves better than this."

"He is young and healthy," Mr. Silas replied, "I am sure he will make a full recovery."

"And you did," Rebecca commented.

"No thanks to Fitz," Wickham growled, "I hardly saw him in those two weeks I was forced to stay in bed and when I did he was so cold to me."

"He was ill, too, did you not know that?" Rebecca asked.

"Yes, I did know that, but it was nothing compared to what I suffered."

"Do you recall your conversation with Mr. Darcy about the incident?"

"Yes, but I would like to see it again, along with whatever discussions Mr. Darcy and Fitz had about what occurred."

"I can arrange that," Rebecca responded. "Are you ready to see it now?"

"As ready as I will ever be," Wickham replied.


	9. Chapter 8

**So this story has been hounding me to write it as I do because I want to know what happens, and I really appreciate liysyl and nanciellen commenting on almost every chapter, and thank you guest, but my ego (which I try my best to ignore because it is a selfish little beep) keeps asking me why no one else is reviewing, which made me think of these lyrics as perfectly expressing this: As Roger Waters sings in Pink Floyd's "Comfortably Numb," "Is there anybody in there? Just nod if you can hear me. Is there anyone at home?" or as Dawn sings in the Buffy Musical, Once More with Feeling in the aptly titled "Dawn's Song," "Does anybody even notice? Does anybody care?"**

 **In answer to Guest's question/comment, yes this is why Darcy never does anything to rein Wickham in, because Darcy does feel guilty and no he didn't apologize (Darcy flat out tells Elizabeth that he has been a selfish being his whole life before her correction though he was taught better), and as to whether we will see Darcy do it later, I don't know yet, and yes Darcy is still a terrible swimmer, and yes Wickham really needed that apology but as with many of us that did not get what we need, he will have to decide if he will let it ruin his whole life (as it has been doing) or whether he can finally move on. Yes, the Colin Firth version is mostly great, but I've read that Colin Firth was not allowed to swim in the pond (they were worried about micro-organisms and liability) so he actually swam in a tank and hit his head on the wall and then in a later filming where he is supposed to be emerging from the water he poured water on his head to make it look like he'd been swimming (which he wasn't supposed to do, his makeup artists were most displeased).**

The mist did not bother Wickham this time, but he missed Rebecca holding his hand. At some point she had transformed in his mind from being an anonymous angel clothed in his new sister's form, to being a real being who cared about him. And it did not seem like some manufactured caring designed to help her side win. He felt she really did have his best interest in mind, even if her idea of what was best for him did not necessarily match his own ("eat your liver, George"). He wondered if this was what what it would have felt like to have an older sister.

Wickham knew many people cared about him when he was young, but he never felt that he was all that important to them. There was always something or someone that was more important. For his father it was Pemberley and pleasing Mr. Darcy, for his mother it was the things she could buy by spending their money, for the Darcys it was their son. Wickham felt he was only important to the Darcys for the way he could be of service to Fitz. Yet he had seen the real worry in George Darcy's eyes and when Mr. Silas was attending to his still half-drowned body, there was no one more important than him. It was not about Fitz, except in how Fitz could aid George. In each action taken by the staff of Pemberley regarding his near drowning, everyone was doing their best to help him to the exclusion of all else. It made him feel that he might, just might, have an intrinsic value for himself.

This was also why he had consented to let Lydia run off with him. Her being in love with him might be fully a product of her over-active imagination, but she did put him first in making that choice and though he had never planned to marry her, her choosing him had felt nice.

Perhaps a week or more had passed in the past when the mist cleared and he saw Mr. Darcy sitting at his bedside. His younger self was dwarfed by the enormous bed he was in. He was sitting up and coughing (Wickham remembered afterwards having some kind of sickness of his lungs, probably from some pond water he had choked on when Fitz grabbed at him in the water). Mr. Darcy waited for his coughing fit to pass before offering him a drink from a tea cup which he held for George, tipping it slightly so he could have a sip. The warm tea soothed his throat a bit. He remembered it was sweetened with honey and much better than the tea he had at home.

"I am so sorry you are still suffering the ill-effects of your dunking," Mr. Darcy said with a half smile. "I planned to come see you almost from the first moment, but those tending to you believed you needed your rest and family more than the visit of your godfather."

"They were wrong," George managed with a half-hearted grin before being overcome with yet another coughing fit. "I am glad to see you, Mr. Darcy," his younger self added with all his characteristic politeness. Wickham remembered that he was still all sincerity during this period of his life; pretending to be sincere and then acting in his own self interest had come later.

"You are looking so much better than the last time I saw you, for you see I peeked in on you after that first day. I was fearful for your recovery, but it seems to be continuing a pace."

George did not answer. Wickham could see and remember that sitting up in the bed those first couple of weeks always tired him out. Doing the simplest of things tired him out for months; he had been ill for a long time, had only truly regained his strength when it was summer again.

"George, I am hoping you can clear some things up for me. How exactly did you come to be in that pond?"

George told him everything, though he made his sentences short and they were punctuated by coughing fits. He told him how he had grabbed his own boat (the loser in the race with Fitz's man-o-war, as was typical) before it reached the pond, but Fitz was still crowing about his victory and did not grab his boat soon enough. He told him how Fitz tried to insist that it was George's job to fetch Fitz's boat because George's father worked for Fitz's father. He told him about Fitz deciding he would fetch his own boat rather than seek help from Mr. Silas and how he had tried to dissuade him from doing so and almost went into the pond instead. He told him about pursuing Fitz and dragging the branch which seemed almost as big as a small tree into the pond and how scared he was that Fitz would drown before he could get there, but also how scared he was once he reached Fitz that in Fitz's panic he would accidentally drown George and they would both be lost. He told him about how much his body ached but how he knew he had to keep kicking, and how he gave it everything he could and still did not know whether it would be enough. He told him how Fitz supported him as they finally walked out of the pond, but he did not even remember making it to shore, but did vaguely remember being so very, very cold and Mr. Silas helping him.

Through his recitation, Mr. Darcy asked him very few questions, his expression becoming darker and darker. Wickham remembered worrying that he had displeased Mr. Darcy.

"I see now that I should have just gone in after Master Darcy's boat rather than letting him try for it. I knew he was not a strong swimmer. I am sorry about that. I have heard Master Darcy has been ill as well."

Mr. Darcy sighed and shook his head. "No George, you were right to obey our strictures. It is Fitzwilliam that has not acted as he should. It gives me no pleasure to say so, but I am sorry that his pride, willfulness and stubbornness has cost you so dearly. You have been a better friend to him than he deserves. I will address the matter with him."

Wickham could not help but notice that Mr. Darcy did not mention Fitzwilliam's lies, which is why it had been such a shock to learn about them later. Mr. Darcy patted his younger self's shoulder a couple of times in a comforting manner, helped him finish his tea and told him that he would visit him again soon.

Wickham and Rebecca followed Mr. Darcy out of the room. He first sought out his wife, Lady Anne, who was in a private sitting room elegantly done up with many shades of yellow and pink.

"Hello my dear," he greeted her, taking her hand in his and leading her to the settee.

"Have you spoke to young George then, as you planned?" She asked.

"Yes, and it is just as I feared. Our Fitzwilliam has been lying to us, in fact has dug himself a big hole with this one."

They both looked sadly at one another before he continued. "It was all our stubborn son's fault. He actually tried to goad George into fetching his boat with some sort of talk about George being his servant, and then when George would not do it, went in himself and George had to rescue him. What kind of a Master of Pemberley are we raising who can lie with such impunity about someone who was willing to die for him? George's loyalty certainly seems misplaced. Even now, his only thoughts were about whether he did wrong by not preventing Fitz from being foolish."

"Oh dear," Lady Anne commented, "do you think you can get Fitzwilliam to admit he was wrong and apologize to George?"

"You know how he is, it will not be easy to get him to admit that he lied. I rather think he expected that George would go along with his lies. It is a good thing that we haven't allowed him to see George, or he probably would be bullying him about that right now."

"I have felt guilty making Fitzwilliam stay in bed when he is not really ill anymore, but now I think it is the least of what he deserves. He does need a punishment."

"I have been thinking about that myself. Do you know that his man-o-war drifted to the edge of the pond without anyone doing anything? The wind did it by the following day, which was the first time I thought of sending anyone out to find it. George's frigate was tossed aside next to the drag marks of that downed tree limb that ended up in the pond. Every sign confirms what George told me."

Lady Anne nodded thoughtfully. "I do not think Fitzwilliam should have his boat any longer. It has caused nothing but trouble. Do you suppose we should give it to George or would that just cause more problems?"

"If anyone deserves that boat it is George, but I suppose that would only cause further division between the two of them." Mr. Darcy squeezed his wife's hand and she smiled at him.

"Do you suppose," she asked, "we could get Fitzwilliam to give it to George as a sort of apology?"

"I like that idea," Mr. Darcy responded, "but knowing Fitzwilliam he will do anything he can to avoid humbling himself to George. I wish I knew how to fix this defect in his character."

"He is young yet," Lady Anne responded, "he will continue to mature and grow. Maybe having a little brother or sister will help him think of someone besides himself." She patted her still flat abdomen. "It does not help that the staff is always so deferential to him as their future master."

Mr. Darcy brought her hand to his lips. "I hope your suspicions are correct. We have waited a long time for another little Darcy. I confess that I had almost given up all hope and then you surprised me."

"I was surprised myself when my courses never came, but I am fairly certain now. I know I did not fail you as I gave you Fitzwilliam, but I never wanted him to grow up alone as you were forced to."

Then as Wickham watched, half bemused, they began to kiss and embrace.

"Perhaps we ought to see that conversation between Mr. Darcy and his son now," Rebecca commented.

Although Wickham was intrigued by the idea of being a voyeur to their marital intimacies ( _Would the demon who was to be his guide later let him see things of this nature?_ ) he supposed it was not right to see his godfather in flagrante delicto.

Rebecca did not give him a choice, the mist came and with it anything he had hoped to see was swept away.


	10. Chapter 9

**Thanks marieantoinette1; this chapter is dedicated to you.**

 **My cat has decided that rather than sitting on my lap as I type, the best location is between the desk top computer screen and the keyboard. She is watching as the letters appear on the screen and is being rather a nuisance by occasionally batting at them, as if she could play with them which is rather a problem with a touch screen, or sitting up so that I cannot see what I am typing. I keep moving her, but she is pretty determined to be here.  
**

As the mist vanished, Wickham could see that he was in Fitz's chambers, or rather the sitting room attached to his chambers. The room, which was really more of a toy and game room, rather than a sitting room, was every boy's dream. It was lined with many shelves to display the toys. While there were practical items like a desk and writing set and books, no one would even spend any time looking at those things with all the wonderful objects waiting to be played with.

Wickham remembered this room well, had been a frequent guest to it, but it was even more wondrous than he had recalled. Glorious toy soldiers lined a shelf. They were not the cheaper tin soldiers that most families could afford, but beautiful carved wooden ones, painted accurately to depict the distinctions of rank. He spied a beautiful kite hung upon the wall made of colorful silk much finer and larger than any he had seen before or since, a telescope, three stick horses that he did not believe Fitz even played with anymore by this time (though he was not willing to give them up), his bats for bandy-wicket, several tops (Wickham remembered receiving a damaged top from the Darcys that did not spin smoothly anymore, though it did work, and another top that spun perfectly but was missing some of its paint), a toy windmill which would turn if placed outside when there was a breeze, a set of puppets hung from pegs that were styled to resemble the Darcys along with their important servants (there was even a puppet of the tutor they shared and George), a set of horses drawing a fine carriage which had doors that opened, which had carved figures which could sit inside it, and a recent gift which consisted of a wooden game table inlaid with different colors of wood to form a checkers/chess/draughts board at one end and a nine men's morris board on the other side, with a slide out for backgammon (though Mr. Darcy would not let them gamble), with plush upholstered chairs around it.

Fitz was sitting on the floor in his nightshirt, playing jacks by himself. They heard a knock at the door and Fitz scrambled up and started heading to the door that led to his bedroom, but the door swung open before he had even gotten to the door of it and he paused and turned back in that direction.

It was his father, Mr. Darcy, at the door. "I see you have been disobeying our orders to remain in bed," Mr. Darcy said, his voice a deep, slightly displeased rumble.

"I am sorry, Papa. I really feel well again."

"No matter," his father said. "Please sit down, I need to have a serious talk with you." They each sat down on either side of the game table. Fitz set his jacks upon the table and then Mr. Darcy set the two boats down there as well.

"You got it for me!" Fitz smiled upon seeing the man-o-war.

"There was little to it," his father responded, "it drifted to shore on its own. You risked your own life and George's life for nothing."

"George should not have tried to fetch it," Fitz lied, "I tried to stop him."

"Stop Fitzwilliam. I do not believe your tale and I never did. Why you place the blame for this incident on poor George is a mystery to me. Why will you not try to act a man and admit the error of your ways? I would have more respect for you if you did."

"I do not know why George is lying, but he is envious of me. He always wanted the frigate for himself. I saved him."

"Perhaps," Mr. Darcy stared intently into Fitz's eyes, "at the end." Fitz did not look away and from a stubborn tilt of his chin, Wickham could tell that he would never admit to his lie. "However, you were the one who first placed his life in jeopardy. He could have chosen to let you drown and saving you has cost him dearly. He has a kind of infection of his lungs. If he recovers at all, the matter is still in some doubt but we are all quite hopeful on that account, he may have a permanent weakness in his lungs. To be employed as a steward, as his father is, or many other forms of employment would be difficult indeed should he have such a lasting infirmity."

"It is not my fault," Fitz insisted.

"I love you dearly son," Wickham could see a glistening in Mr. Darcy's eyes and hear a slight waiver in his voice, "and I am so glad that you did not lose your life, but I am also deeply ashamed of you. Some day all of Pemberley will be yours and what kind of a master will you be if you do not strive your utmost to do what is right? What kind of a master blames his servants and here his friend for his own mistake? I am going to give you an opportunity, and I dearly hope you take it. You should go see George, he is in the best guestroom, and apologize to him. You could show him that you really mean it by giving him your boat. He surely deserves a reward for his valiant efforts on your behalf. I am hoping that I can count on you to finally do the right thing."

Fitz said nothing and just kept looking steadily in his father's eyes.

"There is no need for you to remain in bed any longer. It is clear that you are well. Your tutoring will resume in the morning. It will just be you for a while. I will be instructing your tutor to focus on teaching you the morality that somehow you have failed to properly grasp. Do not keep disappointing me."

He stood up, Fitz stood up as well, and the older gentleman nodded and then left.

Wickham watched as Fitz's impassive expression slowly turned angry. He went back to his chambers (while Wickham and Rebecca remained in the sitting room, Wickham carefully examining all the toys he had not seen in years, he could touch them but not pick them up), and emerged back into his sitting room when dressed. Fitz's impassive expression was firmly on his face once again as he picked up the toy boats and then purposely strode out the door.

Wickham and Rebecca followed Fitz as he walked down the hall and into the guestroom section of the house. They saw him pause before the door and knock.

A few moments later they heard George croak, "Come in."

Fitz walked into the room, with Wickham and Rebecca right behind him. As Fitz swiftly closed the door, Rebecca held out her hand and the door became translucent and misty, which allowed them to walk through it, though Wickham could still feel it a bit.

Wickham spied his younger self still in bed. They could see what George could not, that Fitz was holding the toy boats behind his back. Fitz set them down near the foot of the bed where George could not see it. All was quiet for a few moments except for the crackling of the fire, built up well to keep George from any chill.

George spoke first, "I am glad to see you Fitz, I am glad you are well enough to be up. Thank you for coming to visit me. Will you not sit down?"

Fitz did not. He ran a hand through his hair and then glared at George, his previously impassive face turning red with anger. "I do not believe you are ill at all. Instead you are milking this situation for my father's sympathy. Why you should get any sympathy from anyone when you disobeyed me I will never understand. Everything that happened was your fault. My father thinks I should apologize to you, but I shant. He thinks I should give you my man-o-war, but I would rather never sail it again before I do and you do not deserve to sail your own boat when you would not save mine."

George wanted to speak. Wickham could see it in the way he moved his lips, though no sound came out.

Fitz bent down and picked up both boats, holding them high so George could see them. "If I cannot sail my boat again, than neither shall you."

Wickham knew what was to follow and could not help but cry out, "No, Fitz, no!"

Rebecca held his hand as he and George watched as Fitz threw both boats into the fireplace. A loud crackle announced they were catching fire.

George struggled with his bedding, managed to sit up and stumble out of bed, only to realize how weak his legs were and slide slowly to the ground, slowed down by clinging to the side of the bed. Heavy coughs wracked his body as he slid.

Wickham remembered feeling so helpless then. The boats were not the important thing, though he mourned the loss of his beloved frigate and that the beautifully crafted man-o-war was no more. But he knew, unlike George, that worse was to follow.

He remembered expecting Fitz to help him back into bed, to say he should not have done it, to say anything but what followed.

Fitz looked at George coldly and said, "We are not friends anymore."

He left without a backwards glance, closing the door behind him.

George, sitting on a rug in his nightshirt, half leaned against the bed. From that spot he had a clear view of the boats slowly being consumed by the fire. Wickham remembered the feeling of hopelessness that overwhelmed him then, and the relief when the tears came and blurred his eyes enough that he could not make out the boats anymore.


	11. Chapter 10

**So when I started writing this story I expected it to be more of a light-hearted romp with some fun references to the movies that inspired it, but as often seems to happen with me, the characters had other ideas. I honestly did not anticipate the backstory of the Darcy-Wickham relationship that has evolved here or how it would set the stage for where they both are when we meet them in P &P.  
**

 **The Bible verses quoted are from KJV as that's the version that was around in this era.**

 **I had this chapter in what I thought was basically a finished state last night but wasn't happy with its direction (too preachy, not enough plot advancement) so I put off posting until this morning to see if I could come up with anything better and yet again my mind right upon waking had the answer for how the chapter should conclude and getting from where I was last night to there basically doubled the length of this chapter and changed the tone a lot.  
**

 **By the way, I learned that the red squirrel, the only squirrel native to England, is now considered "near threatened" due to the introduction of the grey squirrel in the 1870s.**

 **The discussion of Wickham's mother's actions were partially inspired by things my daughter has told me about what her birth mother did, adapted appropriately for the era.**

 **Chapter 10**

"Do you need to see anymore from your past?" Rebecca gently asked him, compassion in her eyes.

"No," he told her while he continued to stare at the burning boats, hearing his younger self's sobs. "Fitz never did apologize; he never wavered from believing he was in the right. We never played together of our own accord after that, though our fathers were always trying to push us together."

He turned to look at his younger self, crying and coughing.

"I cannot bear to see myself so miserable anymore." He turned to face Rebecca instead. _If only I could close my ears so that I did not need to hear his misery, my past misery._

"Do you know that I was out of bed for hours and suffered a setback afterwards? If I had cried out, someone might have found me sooner, but I was embarrassed that they would see I had been crying. I do not think my deterioration was from being out of bed but from my misery. I never told anyone why I got up, only that I thought I could. I never told anyone about what he did to the boats or what he said. I never even told anyone but Mr. Darcy exactly what happened. I kept it secret. I was not ashamed of what I did, but I was ashamed of what came of it."

"Yes, we can leave," Rebecca responded, " but I would like to take you somewhere else that we can talk. Where would you like to go?"

"It does not matter," Wickham answered, "just any place but here."

When the mist cleared, Wickham found himself in a beautiful wilderness all lush greens with exotic plants. The forest was so dense he could only see small patches of blue sky and a slight edge of the sun peaking out overhead. He could hear the cries of birds he had never heard before and something was scampering around above his head. It was most unfamiliar.

"Where are we?" Wickham asked, looking around.

"In the forests of Costa Rica," she replied. "I did not want to bring you to any place where you might have sad memories."

"It is lovely here," he said as he sat down on a mossy log. As he was rather warm, he loosened his cravet and removed his coat, setting it down beside him. "Thank you."

Rebecca sat down across from him. A small shaft of sunlight hit her face and he found himself thinking that her current form was apt. She appeared beatific.

Wickham heard a chattering noise and looked back up at the brown creature scampering above him. It seemed quite lively and cheerful, like a squirrel, but its size, limbs and coloring were all wrong. He was glad for the distraction as he did not want to talk about his past.

"What is that?"

Rebecca glanced up, "It is a spider monkey; they are but one of the many types of animals who dwell here. But we are not here to talk about the creatures of the forest."

Wickham looked back down at his pants; he idly noticed that the coat he had set down had vanished. He supposed it might be because he stopped thinking about it once he put it down. It did not matter as he was not really there and that coat was a memory of a coat he had once owned. He knew he was using the monkey and now his missing coat to not think about the past.

"You did a very great thing in rescuing your friend from his own stupidity," Rebecca told him. "You were ready to die for him, though he did not deserve it."

"Why must we talk about such things?" He asked her. "It was difficult enough to experience them again. It did confirm for me that Fitz was just as bad as I remember him being, perhaps worse. No, he did not want me to die, did help me out of the pond in the end and did fetch help, but he blamed me for everything. I did appreciate learning how much the others did to help me and how much Mr. Darcy cared for me. How different things might have been between me and Fitz if he had just apologized, and how wondrous if he had given me the man-o-war as his father wanted him to do. He did not have to burn our boats, Mr. Darcy was not going to take them away. Why did I have to suffer for my good deed while he escaped unscathed for his bad deed."

"Darcy did suffer much for what he did to you over the years," she responded, "and you did much of the punishing."

"And he deserved everything I gave him and more. Perhaps you should be trying to save his soul instead of mine."

Rebecca shook her head lightly, the small bits of her whitish hair which had escaped from her bun floating around her head like a halo. Rebecca resolved that Wickham should learn just one lesson on this day and endeavored to teach him that it was not his place to punish Darcy for his transgressions. "The word of God says, 'Bless them which persecute you: bless, and curse not.' and also 'avenge not yourselves, but rather give place onto wrath, for as it is written: Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.' Those verses are from Romans 12:14 and 19."

"But he received no punishment," Wickham protested. "His life continued to be blessed while mine was cursed. I received the punishment due him in full measure. Not only did I suffer the pain of my illness, but due to the length of time my recovery took and all the lessons I missed, I was ill-prepared for Eton the following fall and also ill-equipped for sport. I was made fun of for being slow to master the coursework and of no use on the field. Having not the same quick intellect as Darcy, I suffered much from entering school already behind and bearing the baggage of my background. He was a model student, always earning the approbation of those who taught us. I had trouble remembering my Latin."

Rebecca responded to him, "Are you familiar with the Psalms that King David wrote?"

Wickham nodded. He could tell she was about to quote more Bible verses at him and prepared himself to ignore them. However, there was something in her look, so earnest and caring both at the same time that caused him to pay further attention.

"David in the Bible was oppressed, he wrote in Psalm 35:12, 'They rewarded me evil for good to the spoiling of my soul' does that not sound familiar? However, he urged God to judge them. He asked in verse 26, '[l]et them be ashamed and brought to confusion together that rejoice at mine hurt: let then be clothed with shame and dishonour that magnify themselves against me.' Why did you not call on God for help instead of trying to punish Darcy yourself? I tell you that Satan and his minions were whispering in your ear about the unfairness of it all and convinced you that you had the right to exact revenge upon him, and what did it gain you but a darkened heart which has spread evil and rejected good. Has punishing Darcy and living a life of dissipation ever made you happy?"

Wickham thought about that for a while. Had he been happy? He had enjoyed seeing Darcy's torment, but that had always quickly faded away. He had experienced brief moments of euphoria when winning while gambling at cards and enjoying women, but at the same time he had been quite lonely.

"I never expected to be happy," he finally answered, "I just hoped that he never would be and I think I mostly succeeded in that."

"Darcy has had much unhappiness," Rebecca confirmed, "over the years he faced recriminations from his conscience about how he treated you, but by returning evil for his evil, you gave him everything he needed to conclude that you deserved just what you got out of life. Now that he has humbled himself to Miss Elizabeth Bennet, he may yet be redeemed from his past transgressions and find his happiness in this world."

"That is not fair!" Wickham exclaimed. Rebecca read all the signs of his anger and envy in his flushed face, could feel his increased heart and more rapid breathing, and had intimate knowledge of his emotions from his thoughts. Though he did not speak them for her to hear, he practically shouted, _He does not deserve her; why should he get the best Bennet sister while I have the worst one?_ Wickham imagined Darcy and the future Mrs. Darcy in their marital bed; he imagined Darcy doing everything to Elizabeth that Wickham had done with Lydia and imagined that Elizabeth would not only be as accommodating and generous in her affections as his own Lydia, but afterwards she would be pleasant to converse with and loyal, too. He imagined an idealized version of Darcy's and Elizabeth's lives together at Pemberley, all leisure, lovely meals with lively conversation from Elizabeth, fine clothing, doting servants and each night Elizabeth waiting eagerly for only Darcy in their large and splendid bed. While Darcy would be enjoying all of this, Wickham imagined himself drilling with his regiment in the rain and the mud, and as the standard bearer being responsible for the flag, the flag and its staff growing ever heavier as the rain soaked it, while Lydia in the guise of being helpful flirted with a wounded soldier and leaned over him to give him a full view of her decolletage, which he then reached out to touch. Darcy could have his wife and afford as many mistresses as he wanted, while Wickham might occasionally have the funds to indulge in a cheap whore.

He was interrupted from his musings when Rebecca shouted, "Enough! Stop thinking about what may be for him and think about the life that you can make for yourself in the here and now." She then added, in a more even tone, "Did your parents never teach you that life is seldom fair?"

"They did not have to teach me that; I learned it every day seeing what Fitz had and I did not. I saw everything he had; I received his leavings, his crumbs. Almost every toy and item of clothing I owned was his first. My mother had nice things made for herself, but it was not even she who made over the clothing for me. It was the single maid in our employ, a maid of all trade and an expert in none, who took them in and shortened them, for as a lad he was always taller and a bit stout while I was quite thin. However, she never quite got the fit right; some items ended up still too long, which time might remedy; others too wide still or with stitches pulling loose and she seldom cared to make over more than two or three sets of clothes as they interrupted her other duties, so while I could have had dozens of items like Fitz, instead they sat unused until they were too small and another load of Fitz's clothes were delivered."

"That must have been difficult," Rebecca said, taking Wickham's hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

 _If she thinks that is all I have to say on this subject, she knows nothing about me._

Wickham continued to tell her everything, he could not help himself. He told her things that he had never told another. It seemed that once the dam had broken the subsequent flood of sharing was inevitable.

"And do you know what my mother did then? She had her maid sell those clothes that I had never gotten to wear, and used the profits for herself. In her later years they were used to buy her laudanum, she liked to remain always slightly fuzzy from the many drops she took interspersed throughout the day. She might eat her large meal while I was being tutored and then, if it was on a night that my father was likely to dine with Mr. Darcy (which he did when the demands of the estate were at its peak in certain seasons) give the rest to the maid as she sent her off so that she could indulge in still further drops of laudanum, leaving nothing for me to eat that night or for breakfast the following morning."

The look Rebecca gave him was so compassionate, Wickham had to look away so he did not cry, but continued his recitation. Rebecca could feel the hurt child he had been, who still dwelled within the man before her.

"I used to go to Pemberley quite early in the morning, as if I was early enough I could breakfast with Fitz and our tutor, and then the tea I took with Darcy and our tutor might be my last chance at decent sustenance that day, yet I was always careful not to take too many biscuits or cakes, for I did not want to lose my dignity, too. And somehow my father did not notice any of this and indulged her further, she was always begging him to buy her more laudanum or more useless bobbles and he kept supplying them. And the times that he refused, when he was gone for the day she would have her maid sell our items to purchase what she wanted, but it could not be anything that my father would miss, so it ended up being often my limited possessions instead. Thanks be to God that I recovered at Pemberley from my extended illness, where I was provided both the medicines and food that I needed. I gained weight while abed there, but lost much of it once I returned to my family's home. It was not until I was away at school with more regular meals that I finally filled out for good, but then that meant my clothes became too tight and I had to wait for my vacation for the maid to fix others of Fitz's old ones to accommodate my growing body."

"Truly you suffered much as a child," she offered. He only heard her words and could not see her expression as now his eyes were following the spider monkey above him; the monkey seemed so free and unimpeded by anything.

"Does not what Darcy did to you while yet a child pale in comparison to the deprivation from your parents?"

"No!" He shouted, turning back to stare at her with baleful eyes. "I knew what they were like, it was all I knew. I knew Fitz was proud and stubborn, but he had also been my friend, someone I could count on and when I was playing with him, sharing his toys and all the bounty that Pemberley had to offer, I had more dignity. He took that all away when he refused to be my friend. From then on I felt the interloper."

"We shall never settle this tonight," Rebecca offered, giving his hand another squeeze, "but I have a request for you that I think will truly help you."

Wickham looked at her, his eyes more sad than angry now. _I just know she will ask me to pray, ask God's forgiveness for my wrongs; she can forget me doing that. Perhaps I should ask for him to strike Darcy down._ He imagined a bolt of lightning hitting Darcy on his backside, or perhaps it could sizzle his "sword" instead. The thought lightened his mood and his eyes softened.

"Share what you have told me, what you experienced as a child with Lydia. She knows so little of the man she married, but as your wife she is to be your helpmate, and she can help you by sharing this burden with you."

"So are my visions are over for tonight?" Wickham inquired. He did not want to commit to telling Lydia anything, but resolved to consider it. He owed Rebecca that much.

"Yes," Rebecca confirmed, "I believe you have experienced more than enough for one night. While this may feel as it has been hours for you, not much time has passed in your life. Try to sleep and consider these matters further. When I think you are ready, I will return to give you a vision of the present. Are you ready to return to your bed?"

Wickham felt a very real weariness steal over him. He had been holding it back, all his strong emotions countering it. He thought he might indeed sleep.

"Yes."

Rebecca continued to hold his hand as the mist formed and he returned to darkness, the darkness of closed eyes at night.

"Open your eyes," she said.

He opened them, blinked a few times, looked over to where he had seen Rebecca standing earlier, saw a faint shimmer that he believed was her, and then it was gone. Wickham turned back toward his sleeping wife, snuggled into her back and snaked an arm around her. With many thoughts still swirling in his mind, he drifted off to sleep.


	12. Chapter 11

**Guest, you are very smart.**

 **Just for fun I decided to repurpose much of Lydia's dialogue from the book.**

In the morning when Wickham awoke, he was half convinced it was all a dream, though if a dream the most complex of which he had ever remembered. He checked his finger where he had bitten it and did see a faint mark, but he could not tell if it was inflicted by his tooth or was simply a small wound of unknown origin that occurs regularly to very little notice. He tried to make a sketch of the spider monkey he had seen, but found it difficult to capture from memory and his rendering was poor.

He went about all of his tasks during the day as he ought, but his mind was continually being captured by some remembrance or another from the night before. He was all distraction and it was a wonder that he made no terrible error and was given no rebuke. When his duties were over for the day and he returned home to Lydia he ate the bread and meat she had waiting without really tasting it and let her usual inane chatter wash over him. He wondered at how her throat was not sore for all the talking she did as she talked on about one matter or the other. Occasionally he would insert an "uh huh" or "oh" but eventually stopped making even this barest of attempts to talk with her. It seemed she was not even listening for his responses or leaving much room for him to make them. However, whereas the night before he might have found all of her comments irritating, now he saw them as an attempt to fill the void left by not knowing what to say to the stranger she had married.

Wickham wondered whether he should take Rebecca's advice and talk, really talk to his wife. If there was a Rebecca, if she had in fact given such advice . . . but then it occurred to him that if it was simply a dream or a figment of his imagination, it would be his own advice that he would be following. Whatever the source, the real question was whether he wanted to do it. The more he reflected upon it, the more he thought that he indeed did want to tell her.

It was frightening, though, to share such things with anyone, and while he knew Lydia's body intimately, he had no intimate knowledge of her mind or how it worked. Sometimes he feared it contained nothing beyond whatever she was currently speaking about, but that could not be right, could it?

He decided to test the waters a bit. He waited until she seemed to have concluded the topic to one conversation, about the latest French garments and how they might be adapted by English women, and decided to ask her a question.

"Lydia, would you like to hear a story?"

She paused from whatever conversation she was about to start just then and looked at him, giving him her whole attention. "A story about what, George?"

"A story about how one Fitzwilliam Darcy wrecked my life when I was but a lad."

"Is it a true story, George? My sister Jane said you were not to be believed about everything you said about Mr. Darcy."

"She was right to tell you that," he admitted, "but I want to tell you the reason I have been so angry at him. It is something that I have kept to myself for all these years."

"And you want to tell me?!"

Wickham was not sure if she was pleased, uncertain or dismayed. Maybe Lydia was not certain, either.

"Should not a husband share things with his wife?"

She nodded her head vigorously and threw her arms around him, squealing, "Oh George it is all I want, Dear me! I thought you were mad at me. Although I did my best not to listen to my aunt Gardiner before our wedding, preaching and talking away away just as if she was reading a sermon and did not hear one word in ten regarding all the wickedness I had done and all the unhappiness I brought to my family, I heard it when she said that you did not care about me and that you were only marrying me because Mr. Darcy made you. When you told me not to tell anyone that Mr. Darcy was at our wedding, I worried that it was true, that maybe she was right."

During this whole speech, Lydia had been running her hands along all the most intimate places of Wickham's body and her face was quite earnest even while her fingers were driving him to distraction.

"Did you know that I came to Brighton with Mrs. Forster for you? Not a soul knew of it, but Mrs. Forster and Mamma, and Kitty and me, except my aunt Philips. I did not want to be the great fool that let you go away when I really liked you. Good gracious! when I went away, I am sure I had no more idea of being married till I came back again! though I thought it would be very good fun if I was, with you such a charming man. When we were discovered by Mr. Darcy in London I was resolved on remaining with you, so certain was I that we should be married some time or other. I never thought about what it would mean to be a wife besides getting to chaperon my sisters at all the balls. While I enjoy being quite comfortable and snug with you during our physical interactions (you do everything best in the world compared to other men, I am sure), the rest of the time I have no idea what you want from me."

Lydia continued giving him strategic squeezes, such that he was having trouble paying adequate attention to her voiced thoughts.

"I was so afraid you know that you were bored of me and when you were ignoring me at the assembly I was in such a fuss and wanted to make you jealous. I was so glad when you fought for me, if you had not I should have gone quite distracted, I did not really like him having his hands on me and afterwards when you claimed me once again as yours, I thought for sure that Aunt Gardiner was wrong but then again tonight you have been so quiet that I was feeling rather uncertain again. I am afraid I have made a rather mess of being your wife thus far. I have longed to know your thoughts. If you want to pull your past to pieces with me and tell me your secrets then it means you trust me, as a husband ought to trust a wife. I will promise you so faithfully, to keep such a secret."

Wickham was almost was completely lost when Lydia shoved his face in between her breasts and it was with some effort that he pulled free and declared, "Lydia dear, I want to talk to you; affection can wait until later."

"It does not seem to me that _he_ wants to wait," she said as she unbuttoned his fall. Wickham found he had no desire to resist her overtures.

 _What a woman!_ _And how good that she is my wife!_ Those were his last conscious thoughts before his mind was entirely occupied with sensations and making Lydia make very pleased moans as much as he could. He thought her heard her, at one point say, "How nicely crammed in you are," but he might have been mistaken.

After a vigorous session of loving, with both of them temporarily sated, when Wickham's first inclination was to drift off to sleep, it occurred to him that he had still told her nothing more than the topic he wished to discuss with her. As he let sleep claim him, he resolved to himself to discuss it with her on the morrow.


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

In the morning when Wickham awoke instead of just alighting from the bed with no care for Lydia, he lingered for a moment, placing a small kiss on her cheek before getting up slowly, and then pulling the covers back up to ensure she remained well wrapped in their bedding. The light was dim, but he could see no remaining mark upon her skin from when he had struck her two nights prior. The day before, he thought he could see a bit of swelling and redness, but nothing too obvious. He would be glad if it had truly subsided.

He sat himself back down on the edge of the bed, turning to look in her direction and to consider her further. She was quite lovely, he decided, and it was not just that she was still in the bloom of her youth, looking like a maiden who had not yet had her come out. At some point in the night she must have awoken and felt some burst of decorum as she was now wearing a nightgown with a modest neckline, which concealed from him all her most fascinating parts.

Wickham thought about how much he had altered the probable course of Lydia's life. Though Lydia might act the part of a carefree girl, she was one no longer. That changed not so much with their convert kisses and touches in Brighton, for as they had been unobserved she might have taken back her usual life upon returning to Longbourn as if nothing had happened. He had not planned for much more to occur than those stolen moments, though he had thought about what else he could do with her when he was alone in his tent and indulging himself. Whatever Darcy might have thought about his proclivities and activities of idleness and dissipation, Wickham had never taken an innocent as a lover before, though he had his fair share of whores, tavern wenches and merry widows.

He had known for a long time that Lydia fancied him. Wickham was well familiar with the signs. There were quite a few maidens in Meryton and the surrounding environs that did. With the youngest Bennets maidens, Lydia and Kitty, nary more required from him than a greeting and a smile to secure their admiration. Though Elizabeth was of the Bennet women the one that he found most intriguing, it required more of an effort to secure her attention; Elizabeth had a decorum about her and was not given to obvious displays like her younger sisters, though it was clear she had liked him better than any other. He had many other admirers besides them: Miss Maria Lucas, Miss Mary King, Miss Penelope and Miss Harriet Harrington, the list went on and on. And it was not just the maidens that fancied him; he had seen open signs of admiration from Mrs. Forster and more subtle ones from Mrs. Bennet, Mrs. Phillips and Mrs. Hurst.

However, Wickham had never dallied with a married woman, at least not one that he knew was married. While it might be easier to conceal the possible effects of his visits upon them, he had no wish to be challenged to a duel by a cuckolded husband or have one pay someone to slit his throat while he slept. Disgruntled husbands and fathers might seek revenge, which was the real reason he had never taken an innocent maiden; it was not worth the risk. Such things aroused men's passions as overdue debt could not.

Wickham had in fact been more bold in accepting the limited favors that Lydia granted him, much more than was his usual wont. Though technically under the supervision of Colonel Forster, as commander he was a very busy man and left supervision of his wife's guest almost entirely to his wife alone. That was not a wise decision, as Mrs. Forster was all of seventeen years of age and had captured Colonel Forster through his lust and not his good sense. Mrs. Forster was silly, crass and obliging to all her guest's baser instincts; she had helped them to meet in secret, perhaps wishing that she could act with impunity as Lydia did (Colonel Forster was quite old and Mrs. Forster was his third wife, the others having passed on).

The last time Wickham met Lydia as arranged by Mrs. Forster and Denny, he had already planned to leave Brighton the next day. The men he owed gambling debts to were getting impatient and Wickham had no interest in receiving a beating or worse. He had merely thought to indulge in Lydia's caresses and see if she would indeed reach into his pants as she had hinted on the previous assignation that she might do. He was not even sure why he decided to tell her he was planning on leaving. It was not his usual practice to inform anyone when he needed to skip out on a debt; telling someone always increased the chances of getting caught.

Maybe he had been indulging in a bit of fantasy, hoping she would beg him to stay, when he told her, "I am leaving Brighton in the morning. I wish I could stay here with you, dear Miss Bennet, but I have some debts I cannot pay."

He had been truly astonished when Lydia looked him straight in the eye and proposed in response, "Perhaps we both should run away?"

He knew then that she was his for the asking, he could have her right then if he wanted, and it was tempting. The right thing to do would be to just refuse her, tell her it was a bad idea, that he was no good and she would regret such an action.

Instead he asked, "Do you have any money to help fund the trip?" Even then he did not plan to take her with him, but to wheedle her out of some cash. Without hesitation she told him just how much she had and he calculated it was more than enough to rent a hack to London and hole up there for a few days. He considered then what it would be like to have the lush Lydia accompany him, but he no real intent to do it.

But then Lydia said the one thing that could and did change his mind, she said, "I want to go where you do, because I love you." As she said it she looked quite earnest and beseeching and her bottom lip trembled a bit with passion, regret or fear, just begging to be kissed.

Wickham before that juncture never considered that Lydia might love him. All he thought was that she was taking pleasure in being admired by him and in the danger of meeting him. Even then, he was not sure she actually loved him or had just convinced himself that she did, but her declaration was so very different from that of Georgiana's.

When Wickham tried to convince Georgiana that he loved her and they should elope, he spent a good deal of time charming her, advancing his case day by day in a very strategic manner. Finally when the time came for him to propose that they marry by eloping, he placed delicate kisses on her gloved hands, told her that he loved her and could not live without her, and expressed his worry that if they did not wed right away that her brother might seek an older wealthy gentleman for her over his boyhood friend. Still, he noted her hesitation though she was not unmoved. Even when she finally consented, saying she loved him, her eyes did not fully bespeak of her commitment to the idea and in the end her rationality won out.

It was different with Lydia. Her love was reckless, wild and withheld nothing. Proprieties, conventions, her family and her friends were nothing to it. She was willing to give up all to be with him. It was intoxicating and though he did not feel the same, he could not resist the pull of it. So in the end, while he knew he did not deserve that kind of devotion, he had consented. She told him she would leave a note for Mrs. Forster saying they had eloped to Gretna Green, but that she had not a care for where they went as long as they were together.

Wickham was not too worried about Lydia's father as he seemed an indolent sort and he wagered that they would be long gone before any search might be affected. Just how long he planned to stay with Lydia he did not know, but he decided that it need not be extended beyond how long her money could last them, and thus it would not be long.

When he arrived back at their meeting location at first light he half expected that Lydia would have thought the better of it, but she was already waiting for him. Then he thought she would think the better of it before she entered the hired hack, before they left Brighton, and at many other ponts as the day went on. He had half planned contingencies worked out of how to excuse her conduct, but instead her eyes only held his longer, and she had nary a complaint. She kept exclaiming her delight to be going with him and was very friendly in their hired conveyance. He wondered if she would still feel the same when he took her to their first rented room. However, she was far bolder than he expected and left him in no doubt after that.

When Darcy had found them, Lydia's monetary reserves had long been exhausted but Wickham's passion for her had not yet waned. Wickham had delighted in seeing the disgust on his childhood friend's face when Lydia declared her intention to remain by his side. And so she had, far longer than he ever planned, and he was now bound to her.

Thus when he imagined Lydia's life if she had never met him, he pictured her at Longbourn preparing for a ball, a maid dressing her hair, with no deeper concerns than whether she could outdo her sister Kitty in getting her dance card filled first. Instead, in choosing him she had transitioned from her girlhood straight into being first his lover and then his wife, and had left everything and everyone she knew behind. Wickham still did not understand it; he did not understand the first thing about her.


	14. Chapter 13

That day, Wickham felt more settled when he focused on each task before him instead of contemplating his life. He did well enough at his drills that his commander nodded his approval.

On his walk home he again thought about what he had experienced with Rebecca, which seemed even more fantastical another day later. He kept doubting that he could have in fact experienced this. But he did not think he could have conjured the conversations between Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, and Mr. Darcy and Fitz from his own imagination. Yet, who was he that the very denizens of Heaven and Hell would have any interest in him?

He also thought about Rebecca's rebuke that it had not been his place to punish Fitz. Vengeance might be God's domain, but what if His judgment never came, or worse, what if Darcy was forgiven instead of punished? He put any thought of that aside to contemplate the more practical advice she had given him.

Though Wickham still believed it would be a good idea to tell Lydia about the event that altered the trajectory of his life, his remaining silent about it was so ingrained that his ongoing hesitation was difficult to overcome. How he wished that she had just let him speak the previous evening before his courage escaped him.

So distracted was he, that his greeting of Lydia was rather cursory. He did not notice as her bright smile when she greeted him quickly faded away.

He did notice that Lydia's usual chatter while they were eating was a bit subdued and she gave him more time to respond. Frequently she gave him thoughtful looks, but he did not know how to interpret them.

Finally, she gave a small sigh and asked, "George, are you ever going to tell me that story or did I miss my chance to hear it? Do you now think better of telling me?" There was hurt in her eyes, which she rapidly lowered to her lap.

Wickham wondered where his brash and confident wife had gone. The Lydia before him seemed tentative and uncertain.

He hastened to reassure her, taking up her hand while telling her, "Yes, I do want to tell you, Lydia. I simply have less courage to begin than yesterday. I have told no person about it since shortly after it happened."

She looked up at him earnestly, stroked the side of his face gently, and then leaned into his side. "George, I am usually not the best listener, but I want to know everything about you." She reached up to stroke his neck and then his back. "Please tell me."

Wickham, nodded. He relished her gentle touches, touches not to incite passion but to give reassurance.

So he told her, haltingly at first, but the words flowed more quickly as his tale unfolded. Lydia's reactions, which were unfailingly supportive, kept him speaking. He felt a tightness in his chest, one that had plagued him for a long time so long in fact that he was accustomed to it and did not know what it was not to have it, ease a bit. And then he could feel more than just the constant anger which underlay everything, a subtle grey fog that dulled his vision, ached and plagued, a bug bite that constantly itched. In the slight lessening of that anger, other emotions became clearer. There was a sadness that bit at him and regret, also a shame for who he had become. He could also feel a bit of fondness toward Lydia; it was a tiny flame compared to everything else, but it was there, waiting to be fed so it could flare to life.

When he finally finished, she told him, "You are a real hero, George. You did something more important when still a young boy than anything I have done during any time in my whole life. It has been no secret that you despise Mr. Darcy and I am glad to know why." She hugged him tightly then, her head tucked under his chin.

She then drew back just a little so that she could look up at his face, "How is it, though, that you condemn Mr. Darcy for preventing your inheritance rather than for this earlier sin?"

"I do not know," George answered, and he did not. He thought it out aloud, "Perhaps it is because I wanted to save him not for any advantage to me. I expected nothing from him, but that he should live and we would continue to be friends. It would seem almost a betrayal to the boy I was then to seek anything for it, even his shame, as if it would sully the act."

"I think I understand. I have been a selfish being for most of my life, doing whatever I want at a given moment but I would not want any selfless deed I did to be tainted afterwards."

He wondered then if he should confess how far he had turned away from his younger self, how far he had fallen in seeking to gratify his every whim. _I have shared enough for one night_ , he decided. _I want Lydia to see me as a hero just a bit longer._

Somehow afterwards they ended up in their bed with his head on her chest, Lydia stroking his hair. This was the only time Wickham could remember being in bed with a woman where his first object was not to gratify his baser desires. He did not recall ever being held by anyone simply to be comforted, except perhaps (the memory if it was a memory and not simply something longed for but never fulfilled, was quite fuzzy) his mother had once held him like that, when he was young enough to still be cradled in her arms. It was nice, he decided, and he felt a wave of affection for Lydia sweep over him then. A little voice in his head whispered-was it Rebecca's perhaps-"Do you see now that there is more to having a wife than simply obtaining regular physical satisfaction? Let her care for you, let her see the real man. The more you trust and share with her, the closer shall you grow."

Then, for the first night since he had first made her his, they fell asleep without having engaged in any physical intimacy beyond embracing. When he woke in the middle of the night, rather than trying to break free from her arms, he snuggled closer to her, relishing her warmth, thinking drowsily, _My Lydia, my wife._

In the morning, at daybreak, Wickham did not want to leave Lydia's side, but his duties beckoned. Before, she had been a diversion, an amusement, but now he was responsible for her, not only because of the vows they made but based on his borgoning affection for her.

A small voice in his head said, "When you ran away with her, you pulled her into deep waters; when you married her you allowed her to cling to you, saving her from ruin; depending your future decisions you could still let her drown."


	15. Chapter 14

Some weeks passed and Wickham and Lydia fell into a routine. While Wickham was more at ease around Lydia and felt some affection for her, he was certain that he could not, would not ever come to love her. Instead she was the obstacle between himself and the means a wealthy wife could have given her. For not the first time he thought he could have fallen for Lydia if she had the dowry of Miss Darcy (he had been prepared to love her, and make her happy and he had no doubt that Lydia made the better bed partner). Lydia was still very affectionate toward him, but the progress they had made in furthering their relationship with his willingness to share things with her was now a distant memory. Wickham, despite his best intentions, had not shared anything further with her. He was fearful that if she knew better the man that she had married, that her affection toward him would evaporate. Though their marital relations were all he could desire, and Lydia still an enthusiastic participant, it felt as if something was missing and that made Wickham feel restless.

It had been many years since Wickham truly tried his best at any kind of employment, and it was not long until it chaffed at him. Until or unless they saw battle and those above him fell, doing his best was unlikely to lead to any sort of promotion, so what was the point? The idea of doing his best as a matter of pride and integrity to do all he could in the service of his country, never occurred to him, so it was easy for him to default to how he had been before Rebecca's intervention, back to the routine of doing just enough not to incur his commander's wrath or punishment, but not enough to merit praise. He was uniformly charming such that others forgot that he was quite mediocre at his post. It was a role he had long taken on, it was comfortable and familiar.

Wickham was slowly but surely falling back into his old habits. The first time he left again after the evening meal had dismayed Lydia, though he had returned home later in a decent mood (he had won more than he lost and was relaxed more than intoxicated) and as amorous as ever. Though he had only gambled a bit, it seemed only a matter of time before he fell wholeheartedly back into all his old ways, though perhaps not in regards to women and this difference might be due more to convenience and economy than out of a commitment to his marital vows.

Rebecca was becoming frustrated. It was past the point when she wanted to show Wickham the present and how the world outside of his immediate one fared, but thus far it did not seem that the timing was yet right. Nothing, thus far would be much of a revelation to him. Also, Muck was whispering in his ear and Wickham was being far more receptive to him than to Rebecca's suggestions. It seemed that Muck might win him before Rebecca even completed her turn.

Rebecca kept listening and waiting, and also watching the developing situation with Lydia's older sisters and their beaus. When Mrs. Bennet's latest letter winged its way to Mrs. Wickham, she listened in as Lydia read the letter to her husband, knowing what it would contain, but curious as to how Wickham would react.

 _Dear Mr. and Mrs. Wickham,_

 _Oh how delightful it is to write those words. My darling Lydia married, I still can hardly contain my joy. How well your name sounds and looks when I write it. What a handsome couple you make. If only you could be settled nearer to Longbourn!_

 _I have some news that I am sure will give you happiness. Your dear sisters Jane and Elizabeth are soon to take on new names themselves. Jane is to marry Mr. Bingley. I knew she could not be so beautiful for nothing, though she does not have your good temper and liveliness. However, the biggest surprise is that Lizzy has landed Mr. Darcy. I know not how she managed such an accomplishment but what pin-money, what jewels, what carriages she shall have. I used to think him a rather disagreeable, horrid man, not at all worth pleasing, fancying himself so very great, but now I can see he is so charming, so handsome, so tall, and I dislike him not at all. I can forgive much for the consequence she gains and I cannot think it beyond her cleverness secure a home for me when your father passes on and more immediately to have Mr. Darcy advance your dear husband's career further as a proper present to you both. It is only right, now that they shall be brothers._

 _I tried to get Lizzy at least to ask to marry with a special license, but instead she and Jane both opted to have the bans read and be married in a joint ceremony, two weeks before Christmas. I have not nearly the resources needed to prepare for such a wedding as Mr. Bennet has taken a surprising hold of the purse strings, I shall go all distracted trying to manage, but I shall do my best. If only I had been given the opportunity to plan your wedding as well. How wonderful an event would have been a triple wedding. Alas, it was not to be, but perhaps you shall also be my first daughter to give me grandchildren._

 _I wonder, do you suppose your husband could obtain leave so you both could travel hither for the ceremony?_

 _Your loving mother,_

 _Mrs. Bennet_

"Damnation!" Wickham exclaimed, when Lydia concluded. He shot up from his seat and began pacing in their small room. "And just like that Darcy gets everything he wants while I am left to rot here."

Lydia had not expected Wickham's ire and the unintended insult to herself hurt, but she immediately tried to soothe him. "Dear George, you have consequence and importance. You are so very important to me. Lizzy cannot truly care for detestable Mr. Darcy."

"Yes, she could not truly care for him if she knew what he was really like, the blackness deep in his soul." Even as Wickham spoke those words, he wondered if he was speaking just of Darcy or of himself as well.

"You wish she knew?" Lydia questioned.

"Yes, yes," Wickham answered distractedly, imagining Darcy enjoying all Elizabeth had to offer, both her physical embrace (she and Lydia were close enough in build, though Lydia was the taller, that it was not difficult for him to imagine the delights her body could offer, and that Darcy would get to enjoy them was abhorrent) and her lively wit, the two of them disparaging the Wickhams as they lounged in front of one of the many roaring fireplaces at Pemberley, Elizabeth's partially unclothed body a buffet for Darcy's appetite, while Wickham marched endlessly in the rain and in the mud. Muck kept him well supplied with images to feed his envy.

"I knew Darcy was after your sister," Wickham commented, "It is why he was so anxious to arrange our marriage and to get me far away."

"But you wanted to marry me, did you not George?" Lydia asked, anxiously awaiting his answer.

"Yes, of course . . ." but before Lydia's anxiety was entirely relieved, he quietly added, "More than the alternative." Wickham paid little heed to his words, or the effect they were having on his wife. He was imagining how much more he would have tried to integrate himself with Elizabeth had he known how much Darcy had admired her. He imagined not for the first time how satisfying it would have been to have her instead of Lydia, Darcy looking on at their happiness and unable to do naught.

Wickham was so caught up in his thoughts, that he did not notice the moment that Lydia's heart broke just a little, when the idealized version of her husband which had only been strengthened by his tale of childhood woe, gave way to her peering at the man she did not know, one who was mean and coarse, who cared for her far less than she for him, the man who was stuck with her against his will. She did not want to be cast in the role of her mother, shackled to a man who did not respect her.

But loyal as Lydia's heart was, she did not lay all the blame for this on her dear George. It was clear that Mr. Darcy was owed the larger portion of the blame. So after George excused himself, pleading that he had arranged an outing for himself with some of his fellow soldiers (it was to gamble as Lydia well knew), Lydia took out her writing supplies and penned the first letter she had sent to any as a married woman, save for a short missive to her mother once she had an address. While Lydia thought she was acting in her sister's best interest, it cannot be doubted that her first loyalty was to her husband and she desired to be of use to him and was not dismayed in showing herself to know more for once than her elder sister.

 _My_ _Dear Lizzy,_

 _Mama has written of your good fortune and I wish that I could wish you joy, for if you could love Mr. Darcy half as well as I do my dear Wickham, you could be very happy. Yet such happiness would be built upon a lie. I feel compelled to tell you that Mr. Darcy is not who he seems._

 _I doubt you know that Mr. Darcy owes my husband a debt of honor which he has never repaid. Even now my dear husband is still haunted by his egregious treatment at the hands of your fiance, though he has told not a soul about it save me._

 _When Mr. Darcy was yet a lad, Wickham saved him from drowning at great risk to himself and his health._ _Mr. Darcy rather than thank Wickham, blamed him for_ _not voluntarily venturing into a chilled pond against the specific rules set down by both their fathers to retrieve Mr. Darcy's toy boat and cut off all friendship between them over the matter. I do not doubt that my husband had been resentful towards your future husband over the years and perhaps acted as he ought not to have acted, but any actions he took in light of Mr. Darcy's misdeed were more than justified._

 _Can you not see that the same man who would insult you as not handsome enough to tempt him, whose arrogance and pride you often complained of, has long been the villain in this story? Mama thinks I ought to ask Mr. Darcy to advance my dear Wickham further in his career, but I hope instead that you will give him a set down equal to if not exceeding what Papa could do and break your engagement. For all his riches, Mr. Darcy is not worthy of you and my Wickham is the better man._

 _Lydia_ _Wickham_

Rebecca then knew the exact scenes of the present she would show Wickham, those that would follow the arrival of such a letter. She only hoped that it might have a more substantial impact than the last vision had.


	16. Chapter 15

The night after Elizabeth Bennet received her sister Lydia's letter, Rebecca came to visit Wickham after he had just stumbled home, somewhat intoxicated and in a foul mood having lost heavily at cards. He planned to console himself by receiving marital affection from his wife and was rather annoyed to find her gently snoring rather than ready and waiting to delight him. While Lydia used to wait up for him, throwing her arms around him when he first entered, kissing him and caressing him, of late his late nights had become all too common of an event for her to attempt to stay awake only to be exhausted the next day. Of late she had felt tired much of the time, which she blamed on her husband's reacquired habits.

After he tossed his uniform over a chair and entered his bed, hands already pulling Lydia's nightgown up, he heard a familiar voice, not with his ears but in his head.

"Let her sleep Wickham, we have business tonight," Rebecca told him.

Wickham turned to look at the faint shimmer he doubted anyone else would notice. "Oh, so you have made an appearance now, have you?" He thought angrily at her. "I had mostly convinced that I dreamed the whole thing up; come to gloat over how much I have failed?"

"Close your eyes and we can talk all about it."

Wickham huffed and scowled. "Darcy always gets everything he wants. When will it ever be my turn to win?"

"You really need to quit gambling," Rebecca advised, "So far you can pay your debts, but pretty soon you will be in over your head."

Wickham decided he was tired of addressing a disembodied voice, so he gave a resigned sigh and closed his eyes. He immediately saw Rebecca before him, her whitish blond hair shimmering in the moonlight.

Wickham looked around. He recognized the place, though it looked different with the trees bereft of leaves. "Why are we back near Meryton?"

"Some very significant things happened here today," Rebecca told him. "Walk with me and I will tell you all about them."

He nodded and they walked in the direction of Longbourn.

"Did you know that Lydia sent her sister Elizabeth a letter in response to Mrs. Bennet's announcement?"

He shook his head "no."

"Lydia decided to tell her sister all about what Darcy did to you in the hope that she would break off her engagement with Darcy. Elizabeth received her letter today. Would you like to see what happened?"

Wickham nodded. The mist came and as it faded away it transforming the landscape from night to daytime. He could see indistinct two figures and after the mist vanished completely the identity of the two people was unmistakable. He could see that it was new sister Elizabeth, her hand resting on Darcy's arm as they walked toward Wickham and Rebecca. Darcy and Elizabeth were looking more at each other than at the path before them and both looked happy. It was sickening.

"I almost forgot," Elizabeth paused and removed her hand from Darcy's arm to dig though her reticule, "right before you arrived, Fitzwilliam, I received a letter from Lydia. Mama told me she wrote to her to share news of our engagements. This should be good for a laugh. I hope that Wickham is treating her well."

Darcy's brow wrinkled a bit. Wickham supposed he disliked even the mere mention of Wickham's name.

Elizabeth broke the seal and unfolded the page. As she scanned it, Wickham could see the moment when she learned the truth. Her eyes grew wide, her mouth drooped open in an "O" and all the color drained from her face and she swayed on her feet.

"Good God, what is it?" Darcy asked, turning to face her. "What has that blackguard done now? He has not beaten her has he? Or has he abandoned her? Left her for another? Please say something Elizabeth, you are frightening me. Whatever it is, we will face it together and I will make sure he treats your sister properly. Do you not know by now that you can count on me?"

"I . . . I . . . it seems I know nothing, what a great fool I am," Elizabeth answered dully. She looked down again at the page again, evidently reading the brief letter again. "I must go home!" She thrust the letter half crumpled into her bag, closed the top and scurried back in the direction of Longbourn without a backwards glance, leaving Darcy behind.

"My love, wait, let me escort you home. You must have had a fright." Even now Darcy, though he ran to catch up with Elizabeth, seemed confident and self assured.

When she did not stop, Darcy tried to catch her by the arm, which caused her to stumble. She fell heavily, stopping herself with her hands and knees, her skirts sprawled awkwardly, exposing her legs up to the thighs. As he tried to help her up, she brushed his hand away.

"Leave me be, you made me fall!" Elizabeth exclaimed, awkwardly standing up and trying unsuccessfully to brush mud off her skirt, with equally muddy gloves.

"But Elizabeth, you are hurt, please let me assist you!" Darcy sounded plaintive and Wickham smirked seeing Elizabeth give him a cold look.

She announced, "You have done quite enough, Mr. Darcy," before she turned her back on him and marched away.

Darcy watched her walk away, a bewildered look upon his face. He mumbled to himself, "Whatever could that have been about?"

"Oh just wait until you find out," Wickham said to Darcy, who naturally could not hear him. Darcy walked right through Wickham, apparently on his way back to Netherfield. It felt odd to Wickham, a tingly sensation like a foot falling asleep. Wickham hurried to catch up to Rebecca who was following Elizabeth.

Elizabeth walked very determinedly back to Longbourn. On her way she encountered Jane who was walking on Mr. Bingley's arm. Jane, upon seeing Elizabeth immediately broke away from Bingley.

"Oh Lizzy, what happened? Your poor dress and gloves. Let me help get you cleaned up before Mama notices. She took her by the arm, walked Elizabeth straight up the front stairs and to their bedroom.

When Wickham would have followed through the open door, Rebecca held him back. "No peeping for you," she told him, "but you may listen in."

Suddenly the sounds from their room were amplified as if Wickham was right next to them.

Wickham could hear clothes being stripped off and the splashing of water in a basin. Jane was apparently helping to clean Elizabeth off. While Rebecca had kept him from hearing, Wickham amused himself by imagining the scene, which was probably more alluring in his imagining than the reality of Jane helping clean Elizabeth's wounds. In his imaginings, Jane and Elizabeth were bathing each other.

"Really," Rebecca glared at him, hands on her hips, "Do you really need to think of your sisters in that way? Right now Jane is cleaning off Elizabeth's bloodied knees and bandaging them. I think we shall go forward a little." A bit of mist came and went and then Rebecca led him through the wall.

Elizabeth was crying against Jane's shoulder as Jane stroked Elizabeth's hair. "Please tell me what it is," Jane pleaded, "this is much more than being hurt. You have had so many scrapes over the years and there is plenty of time for you to heal up before the wedding."

At the word "wedding" Elizabeth's sobs intensified.

"Did you and Fitzwilliam argue? Did he complain about Mama? He is just not as used to her as we are; I am sure he will apologize."

"I want to tell you, Jane," Elizabeth said, pulling back so she could look at Jane, "but you will want to tell Charles and then he will tell Fitzwilliam and I am not ready for that."

"I do not need to tell Charles, at least not yet. Please let me help; I am sure it must all be a misunderstanding."

"That is just it, Jane, I think I have misunderstood both Mr. Wickham and Mr. Darcy all this time."

"What do you mean, Lizzy? I thought that you had settled that Fitzwilliam had gotten all the goodness and Wickham all the appearance of it. I have hoped that in marrying our sister that Wickham might be sorry for what he has done and anxious to re-establish his character, but that may be too much to hope for as neither of them had any shame when they visited."

"The truth is much more complicated, if Lydia is to be believed." Elizabeth dug out the letter and handed it to her sister.


	17. Chapter 16

Wickham watched as Jane read the letter. She moved her lips slightly as she read, as if reading the words aloud. Her eyes widened a bit and she inhaled sharply at one point but unlike Elizabeth, Jane's face quickly resolved into its usual serenity. She carefully read through the letter again and again.

As Jane read, Elizabeth became calmer as well. Wickham could see that she had now gained control over her emotions.

Jane then laid the paper down in her lap and this time Wickham quickly read it as Jane considered the matter further.

Wickham thought it was quite a good letter, better than he would have credited his wife with being able to write. While he might have wished Lydia had included a few additional details, perhaps mentioned the burned boats or the way Darcy took credit for saving Wickham, he was pleased how she called out Darcy for lying and recommended a course of action to her sister. He was also pleased that Lydia understood him well enough to know that he was flawed, but placed the blame squarely on Darcy. While perhaps Darcy did should not bear all the blame for how he had turned out, it was nice to have the blame placed on Darcy, finally, for a change. Wickham also appreciated how Lydia connected a previous unflattering comment that Darcy made to Elizabeth, which showed his pride and conceit, to Darcy's actions regarding Wickham.

Wickham felt Lydia's love for him in her words. Although she had spoken often enough to him as her "dear Wickham" or "dear George" and told him how she loved him, it was different somehow for her to tell her sister this, in a private missive she had never mentioned to him, that he was never intended to read. Her love suffused the page she had written and in reading those words, he felt her love as a real and tangible thing, a living force, it surrounded him like a warm cloak.

Jane finally spoke. "Lizzy, do you think this is the truth?"

Elizabeth considered, then answered, "I believe it must be. It has the ring of truth about it. Fitzwilliam's letter spoke about them being childhood friends, implying that Wickham's later bad acts were the source of their estrangement, but never specifically said that was the cause. However, I suppose I should own the possibility that it may be false."

She got up and retrieved a letter from a book. "I feel I almost have this memorized, at one point I suggested I would burn it, but I am glad I did not do so." Her eyes quickly scanned the first sheet of two, which Wickham could see was written in Darcy's hand, the lines crabbed and close, on both sides.

"Ah, here it is. He writes, 'Wilfully and wantonly to have thrown off the companion of my youth, the acknowledged favorite of my father, a young man who had scarcely any other dependence than on our patronage, and who was brought up to expect its exertion would be a depravity . . . .' Why is it that I believe that is just what he did? And here where he says, 'With respect to that other, more weighty accusation, of having injured Mr. Wickham, I can only refute it by laying before you the whole of his connection with my family.' But then he says nothing of their relationship in their youth, only that his father supported him at school and then at Cambridge. How can this be the whole of their connection? Why would Fitzwilliam's father have such a high opinion and steady attachment to Wickham just based upon his father being their steward? Could the same wicked man that Fitzwilliam describes also be one who was kind to Miss Darcy when she was a child? Why would Wickham was revenge on Fitzwilliam when Fitzwilliam merely prevented his sister's elopement and paid out the value of the living. As I peruse this letter once again, it seems to leave many unanswered questions."

"Perhaps we are looking at this all wrong, Lizzy." Jane ventured. "If Fitzwilliam indeed did this thing, it was a great wrong, but the other side of that coin is that it means Wickham was not always so bad. Perhaps it means that he can be redeemed, that there might be hope he could regain whatever nobility caused him to risk his own life for another. Perhaps he can become a worthy husband to our sister."

Wickham smiled a bit at Rebecca, he thought, _You and Jane both have faith in me, that I can be better than I yet am._

"Oh Jane," Elizabeth responded, "You are too good to see this in Wickham's actions. If there was indeed such a boy, he is long gone. A man who would run off with a young woman with no intention of marrying her, seeking only to gratify his basest instincts with her willing flesh, is evil personified, a veritable devil clothed as a man."

Wickham's expression fell a bit at Elizabeth's pronouncement, and further still as she added, "I do not think we should go so far in attempting to rehabilitate Wickham. However, now Fitzwilliam taking responsibility for Wickham has a sort of logic. Fitzwilliam told our aunt and uncle Gardiner that . . ." Elizabeth paused and retrieved another letter from her book. Wickham noticed with something approaching shock that it, too, came from the self same volume, entitled "Holy Bible."

"Here it is, 'He called it, therefore, his duty to step forward, and endeavor to remedy an evil which had been brought on by himself.' How could Wickham being as he is, 'an evil which had been brought on by himself' unless Fitzwilliam's own actions somehow caused Wickham to become what he now is? Our aunt says Fitwilliam's real flaw is obstinacy. Would it not be the very height of obstinacy to blame and condemn someone for an action that benefited him? When I think that in allowing his addresses that Fitzwilliam said to me that his prior behavior toward me 'merited the severest reproof . . . was unpardonable' he also told me that he had been 'a selfish being' his whole life, 'not taught to correct his temper' and followed 'good principles . . . in pride and conceit . . . was spoiled . . . almost taught to be selfish and overbearing, to care for none beyond my own family circle, to think meanly of all the rest of the world, to wish at least to think meanly of their sense and worth' when compared with his own. Fitzwilliam told me that I taught him a lesson and properly humbled him. Can you not see that it was Wickham that Fitzwilliam did not care for as being beyond his own family circle, that it was Wickham that he thought meanly of, to not have the worth of himself? He says he was that way for some twenty years, had not previously been humbled. If he was not humbled before, does that not mean that he would never admit to being wrong, would never apologize but would continue to obstinately insist that he was right regardless of how unpardonable his previous behavior was? Who is this man that I have promised to marry? How can I marry him if his so called honest to me is all based upon a lie?"


	18. Chapter 17

**Hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving! This chapter was way too fun to write and I am looking forward to seeing how things get resolved when I write the next chapter. It should be fun.  
**

"Lizzy," Jane said, laying a hand upon her sister's shoulder, "do you not see that you must talk to Fitzwilliam about this whole matter? Doubtless he is quite confused at the moment and concerned with what could have befallen you. Too, I hate to think of my poor Charles wondering what has become of me; even now he may be sitting in our parlor being entertained by our mother and sisters."

Wickham visualized Mr. Bingley trying to listen politely to whatever vacuous things might come from Mrs. Bennet's lips, and inwardly laughed a little, but then thought of how his Lydia would have delighted in talking to her beloved mother. Perhaps they were both silly, but there was loyalty there. He thought again about how much his bride had given up for him, when he did not deserve it. And yet both his wife and Mrs. Bennet were the only ones that supported him without question. He remembered how happy Mrs. Bennet was to welcome them as a married couple into their home, how Lydia and Mrs. Bennet talked so quickly at times that he could hardly follow the thread of their discussion, did not even have to finish a thought for the other to understand, bore identical grins regarding what they both viewed as Lydia's good fortune to marry him. Mrs. Bennet had welcomed him into her home as a beloved son, and something in that spoke to him as a man who had neither father nor mother remaining, had no living relatives but those of the wife he had taken. He remembered thinking that Mrs. Bennet was still a handsome woman and it was clear that the same things that had attracted him to his Lydia must have attracted Mr. Bennet to Mrs. Bennet. He also remembered wondering how long it had taken Mr. Bennet to regret his choice.

"Dear me," Elizabeth remarked, "I did not mean to be so selfish and monopolize you at the expense of my beloved brother to be. Certainly you must go down and investigate whether he is within our home. Perhaps he has returned to Netherfield, in which case you may rejoin me, but if he lingers still you must reassure him that all is well."

"Is all well, Lizzy? I would not dream of leaving you if you are not feeling at least somewhat better." Wickham could tell that Jane was wavering.

He noticed a determined tilt of Elizabeth's chin before she replied. "He must know that you are well. I speak not of myself, Jane, for all cannot be well with me as things currently appear. However, I would not put a blight on Charles for his friend's sake. I shall not collapse into tears in your absence. I shall remain as I am. I think I would like to reflect for a while on what my next steps should be."

And just like that, Elizabeth's determination overcame whatever hesitation Jane still had and she got up. She said, "I shant be long. But what shall I tell Charles when he asks after you?"

"Tell him that I wish to rest a bit after my fall."

"And when he discusses them calling on us on the morrow?"

Elizabeth reflected a moment, squared her shoulders and declared, "I find that I shall be ready to take the matter up with Fitzwilliam tomorrow."

Jane bent down and gave her sister a kiss upon her forehead. "There is the sister I know and love, the one that cannot be cowed or intimidated by anything."

Wickham and Rebecca watched Jane go. The moment the door closed Elizabeth's shoulders slumped and she began crying once again. This time her tears had no hysteria about them, they simply poured out and tumbled down her face for a minute of two. Then she gave a slight sigh, straightened herself up, and just like that they halted. She wiped them away and then picked back up the three discarded letters. As she perused them she asked softly to herself, "Who are you, Fitzwilliam?"

"There is nothing else to see here," Rebecca declared. "Perhaps you would like to see the discussion between Bingley and Darcy later at Netherfield?"

"Will I enjoy it?" Wickham asked.

"I expect so," she responded, "as you wanted to see him suffer."

The mist came and cleared upon a scene of Darcy pacing back and forth in Netherfield's library and Bingley turning his head back and forth to follow his friend's movements. After a few more repetitions of this, Darcy finally halted in front of Bingley.

"Tell me again, Bingley, exactly what you observed and what Jane told you afterwards."

"There is nothing new to tell, Darcy."

"Still, I would hear it again."

"Elizabeth came walking up to us, all muddy, and Jane was at her side asking her what happened and declaring she would help get her cleaned up and they were gone before I could even make sense of what I had seen."

"And Elizabeth made no reply?"

"Absolutely none."

"Did you notice her expression?"

"No, I did not. I saw the mud and the ruined dress and realized it was Elizabeth, it was all a flash and then they both were gone."

"And then?"

"I walked into the house and saw Mrs. Bennet in the parlor. She asked where Jane had gotten off to, and I told her that she was helping Elizabeth. I did not mention the fall as I did not want Mrs. Bennet to get overwrought, you know how she is in such situations and Jane had said she would get Elizabeth cleaned up before their mother noticed and I did not want Mrs. Bennet to find out from me about the state of Elizabeth's dress. Mrs. Bennet then proceeded to discuss the wedding plans, trying once again to make us delay until the spring, and then wanted to talk about her Lydia and bemoan the fact that she did not get to plan her wedding and how much she misses her."

"Did Mrs. Bennet mention receiving a letter from Lydia?"

"No she did not. She did complain a bit that Elizabeth had a letter from her when no one else did, but thought perhaps Lydia wanted to give her some advice as a married woman, now that she knew of the engagements."

Darcy's questions halted momentarily and Wickham could tell he was pondering that a bit. Wickham said to Rebecca, "I suppose his is wondering what advice Lydia could possibly have for Elizabeth. She advised her all right, though not about how to be a proper wife." Wickham smirked a little then, enjoying Darcy's distress and confusion.

"You do not suppose . . . it could not be, could it . . . that Lydia took it upon herself to advise Elizabeth and Jane as to what to expect in the marital bed?"

Both Darcy and Bingley blanched then.

Wickham laughed aloud. "Oh Darcy, your bride to be could certainly benefit from what my wife could teach her; if only you could be so lucky!"

Bingley recovered first from his apparent imaginings of such a scenario. "The letter was only addressed to Elizabeth, was it not? If Lydia wrote such a letter, and I cannot believe that even she for all her brashness would commit such advice to the written page where eventually others might see it, would she not address it to the both of them?"

"Think, Bingley, think. Perhaps she would entrust Elizabeth with more and leave it to her to communicate it to Jane."

Bingley flopped in a chair near the library's fireplace and then Darcy sat himself down in the adjoining chair.

"Do you suppose such advice would be very frightening to our brides?" Bingley inquired. "You told me that Lydia had no wish to leave Wickham when you discovered them. Was that because she feared the consequences of her reputation of not marrying him, or because she actually enjoyed being with him?"

Wickham recalled the knock on their lodging door that turned out to be Darcy. Lydia had hardly been properly dressed and in response to the knock had merely pulled their bed's coverings over her body, her face flushed with passion, while Wickham had rapidly stepped into his pants. He remembered it had not been easy to do up his fall given his previous condition, but the difficulty resolved itself when he heard Darcy's voice say, "Open up Wickham, I know you are in there."

Darcy had certainly cleaned up Lydia's words when he summarized them to Bingley.

"I believe she enjoyed both his company and their activities," Darcy replied stiffly.

"I know maidens are to be kept mostly ignorant before they marry, but you cannot think that Elizabeth is so ignorant that at a word from Lydia she would be overcome at the idea of what is expected, can you?" Bingley asked.

"You did not see her, Bingley." Darcy replied, now blushing a bit. "Her face suddenly got white, as if she had a great fright, and she said something to the effect that she did not know anything and was a fool. What else can I think would be in such a letter?"


	19. Chapter 18

**The verse quoted in this chapter is from Proverbs 16:18.**

Wickham laughed and laughed. He laughed himself through the mist and was still laughing in his actual body when he found himself opening his eyes in his own darkened room.

"That is all for tonight," he heard Rebecca say, her words soft and fading as she added, "I will be back tomorrow evening."

He tried unsuccessfully to stifle his laughter as he felt Lydia stirring in something approaching wakefulness beside him. Instead he laughed all the louder and then she did wake up.

She yawned violently and stretched before commenting, "Lord, how tired I am. It is full dark. George, are you only now come home to bed? I am glad you have come. It is no fun being home without you." She embraced him, leaning into his bare chest as he lay on his back, his body still vibrating with laughter.

"Have you become silly with drink? What can be so funny in the middle of the night?"

Wickham dearly wanted to share the source of his laughter with her. While Rebecca never said he had to keep the matter secret, he thought about how ridiculous and outlandish the matter would seem to her if he tried to tell her then, especially when she might think he had imbibed too freely. Such thoughts stilled his laughter finally.

He thought about how he had come home morose and seeking comfort and had felt the effect of too much drink. He was not sure how much time passed while he was with Rebecca, but he no longer felt the effects of his prior consumption.

He felt instead the vigor of delight in Darcy's downfall and thought, _Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall_. Wickham then wondered when he could have learned such a verse and did not recall. However it seemed apt. Darcy always did have too much pride and was haughty. Wickham could not wait to see how events would unfold tomorrow.

He found he was wide awake and that Lydia, who was gently running her fingers through his loosened hair, seemed awake also. He felt a burgeoning desire for her, but he also wished to talk to her. He thought of how he felt towards her upon reading her letter to her sister and the certainty he felt that she really did love him. He felt, too, a certain guilt that the thing he had always liked most about her before he knew her intimately was her figure, and after he did, that his favorite thing about her was the way her body felt and her enthusiasm for promoting his pleasures.

He said then, he was not even sure what prompted his words, "Dear Lydia, I expect I have been rather a selfish fellow toward you. You have shown me such loyalty and love, have given up much to be with me."

"Oh George, do you not know I would do it all again? I never want to let you go." She then scooted up in the bed, propped on her knees and an elbow now, and began to place light kisses upon the side of his face, while she stroked down his body with her free hand.

Wickham knew she was only moments from inciting his passions and then straddling him, and while he wanted that, always, he wanted to talk with her further before they were both swept away in an incoming tide of desire and its fulfillment. So her captured her hand in his, weaving their fingers together and said simply, "Wait."

"What is wrong George?" Lydia asked as she slid back down, hugging herself to his side.

"Nothing," said he. "You are as delightful and alluring as ever, but I wish to talk with you and I fear we would both be too sleepy to talk if we try to do so after."

She yawned again, "What do you wish to talk of?"

"It has occurred to me, my dear wife, that while I have shared my deepest childhood hurt that there must be much I still have to learn about the events that have formed you."

Lydia snuggled closer to him. "I have not had near the dramatic events in my life that you have, at least none that I can recall. Most of my life has been about arranging delightful schemes, talking and laughing, flirting and having fun. I have always had my mother's love and support. Above even my sister Jane, I have been her favorite. My birth was very difficult and took too long. I was born from my mother blue and lifeless. Thus when she saw me, she fainted dead away. I understand that even a normal birth is trying, so all of it must have been too much."

Wickham found himself drawn into the story and felt a faint chill run through his body. _What if my Lydia had died as a babe?_ The thought was awful to contemplate. He pulled Lydia, closer to himself and wrapped his arms protectively around her, dropping a kiss on her forehead.

"How glad I am that you lived!" Wickham told her.

"I am glad you are glad," she responded, snuggling closer herself before continuing her tale.

"The Meryton midwife is quite good and has saved many a lifeless looking baby. My aunt Philips was there and told me so herself that the midwife rubbed me roughly with a towel, scooped mucus from my mouth, spanked me and though I faintly stirred had not yet breathed or cried. She then sucked more junk from my nose and mouth with her mouth and spit it out, then pounded my back with me laying across her knees. Finally she blew a bit of air into my mouth. My aunt Philips said she watched as my chest rose as she blew. Then, finally, I gave a faint cough and mew. The midwife blew into my mouth two more times. Each time I reacted a bit more, until finally I began breathing on my own. Once I was breathing she cut my cord, wrapped me up, and handed me to my aunt. The midwife then attended to my mother, reviving her with some smelling salts."

Wickham smiled then, recalling how he had heard Mrs. Bennet calling for her salts. "And so is this event the origin of her needing her salts?"

"Perhaps, but this is not the end of me telling the story of my birth."

"Carry on, dear wife," Wickham told her, squeezing her tighter for a moment, and kissing her forehead again."

"My mother awoke miserable, thinking I had died. Do you know that my aunt Philips said that she could not be convinced I was hers and still lived? Despite being shown me, I suppose I looked too different from before, pink and all that. However, yet again the midwife knew just what to do. Against my mother's protests, they stripped the two of us bare, placed me against her breast and made me suckle of all things! Only then did Mama know I was hers. The rest of my sisters had wet nurses in the village, but once my mother got a hold of me and knew I was hers, she would not let me go."


	20. Chapter 19

The following day Wickham was not enticed by the offers of entertainment he received from the other soldiers after he completed his duties for the day. He told them that he was still a newlywed and needed to return to his wife. This earned him some ribald comments and ribbing: "I would hurry home too, if I had that piece waiting for me"; "Ah so you've been caught and tamed" and "Them whores are more honest, they cost less than a wife and you only have to pay afterwards." Wickham accepted it all pleasantly enough; he knew what he had, after all.

It made sense to plan on an early evening so that Rebecca could visit him. Lydia welcomed him gladly and they spent a pleasant evening together. Given their late night conversation on the previous evening, it was not surprising that they chose to retire early. After engaging in marital relations, Wickham despite his best efforts drifted off to sleep.

Wickham was dreaming about trying to save Darcy again (it was a common dream whenever his life was complicated and often came when he was considering leaving his current situation) except that this time it was not Darcy he was trying to save but Lydia. He reached toward her from the branch, feeling weariness in his small eleven year old body, and could not reach her. It was the moment when he would have to decide whether to abandon his floating support or strike out, uncertain of both their fates. Just then Lydia sank beneath the water under the weight of her waterlogged skirts. Wickham could see she was plummeting down, down. He dove after her, but when he grasped her rather than slowing her descent they both sank to the bottom, her larger body not yielding to his most vigorous efforts to propel them back up.

He was still struggling desperately to pull Lydia up, her face lifeless and gray, when he saw Rebecca serenely walking upon the bottom of the pond. Rebecca's blonde hair, which had a green tint in the water, was spread out about her in undulating waves at least two feet in every direction above and to the sides of her, though not in front of her face due to her forward motion.

She reached Wickham and told him (at that moment it did not occur to him to question how she could walk or talk under the water), "You are dreaming. Let us retrieve Lydia from the water so that we may talk."

Rebecca grasped the two of them in a bear hug and they shot up through the water and out of it in an arc that slowed enough to gently set them both safely upon the shore. When she released them Wickham, now grown from boy to man, gently lowered Lydia's still lifeless body to the shore.

"Lydia is fine, she merely sleeps," Rebecca told him and Wickham saw that it was true. Lydia's healthy color had returned and she was gently breathing. There was now a blanket beneath her and the green foliage around them announced it was a warm spring day. "She is safe, you may wake up."

And just like that, Wickham opened his eyes and felt more than saw Lydia in his arms under their covers. He felt a tremendous relief that she was indeed safe. But he also felt vaguely disquieted that he had not been the one to save her in his dream.

Rebecca responded to his thought, "We all need help sometimes and people do not have the same fortitude as God. As it says in Matthew 26:41, 'the spirit indeed _is_ willing, but the flesh _is_ weak.'"

"Still, I would have liked to save her."

"Perhaps you shall have have your chance, someday," she told him. "Would you like to see what happened between Darcy and Elizabeth today?"

"Yes, please," Wickham answered, giving Lydia a squeeze before he disentangled himself and settled upon his back. He closed his eyes and found himself in the Longbourn parlor with all the females of the household, sitting near the eldest Miss Bennets, with Rebecca beside him in another unoccupied chair. Jane was serenely working on some embroidery. Mary was practicing on the piano and having trouble apparently with a certain portion that she endlessly played that continually ended wrong. Rather than working on just the problematic measure or two, she kept playing the part she knew and messing up at the end. Wickham, though he knew little of music, thought she might be better off concentrating on learning the last bit. She was roundly ignored by Mrs. Bennet and Kitty who were discussing a rumored engagement between Miss King and Mr. Goulding. Elizabeth had a book out, open upon her lap but it was obvious that she was not reading it. Instead she was rubbing one of her temples as if afflicted with a headache.

"I would have a headache too, if I tried to read in all this noise," Wickham commented to Rebecca. "Still, I would think she would be rather used to it." It reminded him then what Lydia must have been complaining about when she said it was too quiet in their home. No wonder that she did not want to stay at home by herself when he was gone when she was used to such constant cacophony.

"Elizabeth did not sleep much last night," Rebecca offered. "Her thoughts kept her up."

Wickham observed then that Elizabeth did seem tired, but alert. She kept glancing toward the door.

Her patience was rewarded when Bingley and Darcy were shown into the room. Wickham noticed that Darcy's eyes immediately sought out Elizabeth's and he offered her a strained smile.

Jane suggested that she and Elizabeth should walk out with the gentlemen and Mrs. Bennet agreed that it was a good idea. "Perhaps you should accompany them Mary. My nerves cannot stand anymore of your jingle jangling." Mrs. Bennet then immediately resumed her loud conversation with Kitty.

Mary looked distressed but said nothing. Elizabeth and Jane seemed embarrassed, but were silent also.

Wickham and Rebecca followed the two couples out, the other Miss Bennets having declined a walk in the frigid foggy air, though Mary found another occupation. Wickham was glad he could not fully feel the cold. While Jane was taking full advantage of being close to Bingley and being partially sheltered by his shoulder and arm though she was also well covered by a cloak, Elizabeth had declined Darcy's arm and there was a sizeable space between them. They swiftly outpaced Jane and Bingley, walking into a little copse of trees that offered both some protection from the cold breeze and privacy. Rebecca and Wickham followed them there.

For a few moments they merely looked at one another, neither one speaking. Finally Darcy began, "My love, I am so sorry to have made you fall yesterday. That was never my intent." He looked very earnestly in her eyes. She met his gaze but her look was impassive.

Darcy stepped closer to her and picked up her gloved hand. Elizabeth winced slightly, but it was not clear to Wickham whether it was from pain (Wickham thought she might have scraped her hands when she fell the day before) or the distress of Darcy's familiarity when she wished to keep her distance. Her face then resumed its bland, indifferent look. She made no move to withdraw her hand, but left it limply resting in his.

Wickham almost felt sorry for Darcy, as he saw Darcy look imploringly at Elizabeth. Her expression did not alter in response to his. Wickham thought Elizabeth had excellent mastery of her emotions and at that moment a face well suited to bluffing at cards.

Darcy lifted her hand further while also bending down to drop a kiss upon her knuckles before releasing her hand. "Anything that wounds you wounds me as well. I merely wanted to be of service to you, to give you comfort, but it seems whatever your sister wrote you in that letter has caused you to be frightened of me. I can hardly bear to be the source of any distress to you."

Elizabeth did not respond, so after a few moments Darcy tried again. "I understand that it takes time for both husbands and wives to become acclimated to their new roles. My beloved, please know that I would never want to do anything that you did not also desire. Although it is awkward to do so, I will speak plainly about anything you want, will answer any questions to the best of my ability. Lizzy, you must know how dearly I love you. I will do all that is in my power to please you. Please, darling, please talk to me."

Elizabeth looked at Darcy appraisingly. "You will be honest with me, Mr. Darcy?"

Wickham could tell Darcy was now in some distress. He reminded Wickham of a dog that had been scolded by its master and was uncertain of what it had done wrong. While Darcy was not cowering and wetting himself, his expression was similar.

"Yes, of course, have I not always been so?" Darcy wrinkled his brow a bit and clasped his hands together. "Perhaps it is not my place to be so frank while we are not yet married, but I hope your father would excuse it as we are soon to be."

Wickham both enjoyed seeing Darcy's distress and felt uncomfortable seeing it. It had been a long time since Wickham had seen Darcy's vulnerable side. He was reminded of a time before the near drowning incident when he had overheard a dressing down Darcy had received from his father. Wickham did not recall what it was about, but did remember seeing Darcy's face afterwards as he choked back tears. He also recalled his own efforts to try to console him, which Darcy rebuffed. Wickham had understood. Darcy did not want anyone to see him in such a state. Wickham was reminded that he was observing something highly personal and private. _Is it really right that I am seeing this?_

"What exactly do you think you must be honest with me about?" Elizabeth's tone was harsh and her face showed some anger.

"I gathered that your sister must have distressed you by telling you something about the intimacies of the marital bed and what she experienced after she ran off with Wickham." Darcy's eyes dropped to his feet as he continued. "Lydia's experiences with a scoundrel with no care for her well being can hardly be representative of the general marital experience and she should have known better than to try to advise you as to how a gentleman would treat you." A blush slowly suffused Darcy's face.

Therefore Darcy missed the flash of anger that crossed Elizabeth's face as he disparaged Lydia and Wickham.

"How dare you speak of my sister and brother in such a fashion! Not that _our_ intimacy should extend so far, but Lydia had no compunction in sharing that she much enjoys that aspect of married life. What arrogance, to assume the topic of _my_ correspondence with my sister."

Darcy looked up, clearly taken aback by her vehemence. Wickham rejoiced in the knowledge that his wife's enthusiasm was genuine but the misapprehension that Darcy had been operating under, which had seemed so humorous only the night before, now seemed rather sad.


	21. Chapter 20

**I just posted Chapter 19 a couple of hours ago. If you are following along as chapters are posted, make sure you read that one first.**

"It is not right that we are here, is it?" Wickham asked Rebecca. "Can we talk for a bit away from here?"

"Certainly," she replied. The mist came and they reappeared in the forest of Costa Rica. This time Wickham noticed a buzzing sound and turned to observe tiny birds near him hovering next to colorful flowers, their wings a blur. He saw them thrust their long beaks deep into flowers for a few seconds and then move onto the next flower. It almost seemed to him as if they were mating their beaks to the flowers.

Momentarily distracted from the reason that he wanted to talk to her, Wickham asked, "What are those birds and what are they doing with those flowers? How can they move their wings so fast? Are they singing that sound?"

Rebecca answered, "They are called hummingbirds. They put their beaks in the flowers to drink their nectar with their tongues. I do not know how they can move their wings so fast, but I know they require a lot of nectar for their size each day to sustain them. The sound you hear is from their wings beating."

Wickham watched and watched them. _How splendid to be seeing such a thing; I wish Lydia could see them. No matter what comes, I shall treasure seeing these hummingbirds.  
_

Rebecca patiently waited. Finally she noted, "You have been watching those hummingbirds for a long time. Did you wish to talk to me?"

"I am sorry," Wickham told her, then turning to look at her.

Rebecca did not seem at all distressed. "They are quite a marvelous creation," she commented, turning to look at them. "This is one of my favorite spots in the world."

"Still, you are right that I asked to talk to you," Wickham told her. She turned back to him.

"I have been wondering, should we really be seeing such a personal discussion between my new sister and Darcy? It seems a terrible invasion of their privacy."

"You wanted to see Darcy get what he deserved," she replied. "This is the occasion for that and that is why we were there."

"Yes, I want to see Darcy humbled, I want him to pay, but there is something awful about being here for it. I believe he loves Elizabeth and I think he is about to get his heart broken. I thought before he was a fool to not use the leverage of getting me to marry Lydia to get what he wanted from her, but now I understand the matter better. He wanted to earn her love and somehow he has. Although he had no compunction in turning his back on me, I find I cannot forget the boy within him that was my friend so long ago."

"If his embarrassment, shame and mortification can help you alter your life, it will be worth it," Rebecca answered him.

"Can I change without seeing this sight?"

"I do not know." She looked at him calmly, gently. "Do you?"

"Did Lydia send that letter because I needed to see this, or did you change the future by showing me the past and telling me to talk to her?"

"I am not God," Rebecca responded. "I do not know how all things will be resolved or what is supposed to happen. I know some of the 'could be's but not whether they will become 'will be's. I do know it was probably likely that at some time you might tell Lydia; whether her reaction to it might have prompted a similar letter later, I do not know. Even if it had, how Elizabeth and Darcy might have reacted would certainly be different if it occurred after they had wed. When I show you the vision of your future, that will only be one of the 'could be's, not a 'must be'. As far as I understand the future is not certain like the past, at least it is not certain from the perspective of men, angels or demons, but I cannot say if it is immutable from God's perspective. He is all knowing, so must know which if the 'could be's will come to pass, but I also know that men have choices to make. How this can all be is a mystery."

"I want to change," Wickham responded, "but I am not sure if I can and whether this desire will last. I am used to being as I have been for these many years."

"Will you trust me?" Rebecca inquired. She gave a Jane-like half smile. "It is a welcome development that you can feel some compassion for Darcy, whereas before all you felt was hate. I believe you need to see what will happen, that Darcy's destiny is tied up with your own. That as hard as it may be to see what happened, that you not seeing it will not alter what already occurred. So if you need absolution for seeing what happened, know that God has authorized my actions and you will bear no guilt for observing what occurred."

"If that be the case," Wickham commented, "I suppose we should see more even if it makes me cringe a bit."

The mist came then cleared. All was just as they had left it.

Elizabeth said, "Mr. Darcy, have you told me all you should have about your interactions with Wickham? Are you sure you have left nothing of importance out?"

"No, nothing," said Darcy, with a perplexed expression on his face. "I have been honest about his depravities and how I responded when he asked for the value of the living and then the living, what occurred between him and Georgiana, and what his lies have been. I am truly sorry, Lizzy, that your sister ended up married to him, that I did not deal with him more appropriately before she could fall into his web. We have also discussed what I did to make sure they would marry when Lydia declared her intentions to remain with him, though I would never have said a word to you about it if not for your aunt's disclosure."

"Is this truly all?" Elizabeth looked exasperated. "Is there nothing significant from your childhood of which you should have made me aware? Perhaps something that explains why you tolerated his misbehavior for so long?"

Darcy pinked a bit then but said stiffly, "Not that I can recall. Wickham was not so bad when yet a lad, but he was always rather willful and stubborn. He did not know his place, even then. He was never good at deferring to his betters. My father even took his side upon occasion, however undeserved."

Wickham could not help but exclaim, "Even now he denies it? Even now he tries to justify his wrong? Even now Darcy pretends that I deserved his disapprobation?" He felt anger flow through his body and he clenched his fists without even realizing it. "I was wrong before, I will not feel sorry for him even if she does break his heart. Anything she gives him he has more than earned." Wickham's body shook a bit with rage.

"It does not serve Darcy well if he cannot see his wrong," Rebecca commented, a slight sadness to her countenance.

Wickham was glad when he observed that Elizabeth seemed to be growing angrier with each of Darcy's denials. "Tell me the truth, did he save you from drowning when you were both boys and did you turn your back on him for it?"

"There was an incident with a pond," Darcy acknowledged. "He refused to fetch my boat. It was his fault that the boat was in the pond. He refused to fetch it as he ought to have done. He was a strong swimmer and it would not have taken him long. He should have done my bidding and everything that followed was his fault. I could have died and if I had my death would have been on his hands. It was only right that he finally did his duty. I helped him also, made sure he was attended to and would be well. He never apologized. He never acknowledged that he was wrong. My father thought that he deserved my boat as a reward. I made sure he never got it."

"How can this be?" Elizabeth exclaimed. "How can the man who would humble himself without thought of reward to spare me from the pain of a ruined sister perhaps lost in London forever not see the wrongness in his own actions? How can you still be so blind to your own faults? You were wrong when you said that I taught you a valuable lesson and properly humbled you. It is clear to me now, Mr. Darcy, that you are still a selfish being, who cares for none beyond your own family circle (save perhaps me as you plan to add me to that company). However, I see now that I was right in the first place when I refused you based on your arrogance, conceit and selfish disdain for the feelings of others. Oh would that Lady Catherine had never come to see me, that you never thought my feelings might have changed, that I had never asked my aunt about how you came to be at Lydia's wedding. I would have been content to see dear Jane happily married. Perhaps in time I would have found another. And yet now I am bound by honor to marry you. Search your own conscience; can you not see that your prior actions towards Wickham regarding this one event may have been wrong?"

Darcy said nothing. He seemed perplexed.

"Have you nothing to say for yourself?" Elizabeth demanded.

"I have done nothing wrong, whatever you sister may have told you. She is loyal to her new husband, that much is clear. My only wrong is to have been overly patient with the man, to not interfere when I should have."

"You are willfully blind!" She declared. She then burst into tears and went stumbling on her way. The fog by now had partially cleared and she went back the way she had come from earlier.

Wickham and Rebecca remained with Darcy. He seemed first flabbergasted, then confused, then uncertain, for a while angry and then despairing. He said faintly to himself, "Could I have been wrong? Certainly not. But if not, why is she so angry? Have I lost her again? How could it all have gone so wrong? Why is Wickham yet again a thorn in my side? Will I never be free of him?"

Though Darcy could not see or hear him, Wickham could not resist moving right in front of him, inches from his face, and yelling at Darcy, "You are getting what you deserve! I hope she breaks her engagement with you and you are left alone! I may not have deserved your sister, but you do not deserve mine either."


	22. Chapter 21

**First off I'm giving a shout out to mpal for the nice review. I try not to take the lack of a lot of reviews for this story personally and console myself with the fact that people are reading and I'm not getting many negative reviews. I am convinced that any story that doesn't make ODC's romance the central focus of the story at least at first, has an upward battle in gaining readers and reviewers, but I can only tell the stories that pick me, which tend to focus on less well-trodden ground. I'm glad you think I've struck a good balance with the story in having some Biblical references without being preachy (that's actually something I recently addressed in my "about the author" section). I like your insight regarding who needs saving; that may be where things are going, though it is not where I started out. I always have only a vague idea of where things are going when I begin a story. I knew Wickham and Darcy had a childhood misunderstanding, but not what it was. The characters dictates how the story progresses. I didn't know Darcy was going to double down on the fact that he was right until I wrote it.**

 **I guess I am pretty fortunate that my first story had so many reviews and gained me a few devoted readers who keep following my stories and reviewing (yes** ** **nanciellen, liysyl, marieantoinette1 and ColleenS., you know I mean you).** It would have been hard to keep going with the writing if not for that. Knowing that you are likely to review keeps me going in those moments that I do get discouraged. ****I am invested in this story and I thank you for your continued interest.  
**

Wickham was still yelling at Darcy when he walked right through him, apparently setting out for Netherfield on foot. After Darcy left, Wickham gradually calmed down.

Rebecca waited patiently, not saying anything.

Finally, when Wickham felt he was over the worst of it, he addressed her. "I do not know why I expected any better from him. I should not have hoped for that; if I had not I would not have become so angry."

"There is nothing wrong with righteous anger. Even Jesus was angry at the hypocrisy displayed before him," Rebecca responded evenly, her soft tones displaying no dismay.

"He is wrong, yet he cannot admit it to anyone, least of all himself. Can you help Darcy with this?"

Rebecca looked quizzically at him. "You wish me to help him? I did not expect such a request. Do you earnestly wish it?"

Wickham reflected a moment. "Yes, I think I do."

"He is not my assignment," Rebecca told him. "I am not sure that I can have any dealings directly with him."

"Not even if it helps me?"

"I am not certain. I may have to consult with a higher power, perhaps God himself. I will think upon the matter further. I advise that you do so as well, for you may not desire the same thing on the morrow. There are two more conversations which I think you should observe."

"Lead on my angel."

The mist took Wickham and Rebecca to the Netherfield library. Darcy was sitting, staring at the fire, slumped forward in his chair. Wickham thought he looked defeated.

The door opened and Bingley came inside the room, pulling the door closed behind him. Bingley's attention was focused on Darcy and he seemed concerned. Bingley greeted Darcy and Darcy halfheartedly returned the greeting. Bingley took the chair next to Darcy and he, too, began staring into the fire.

Finally Bingley sighed and began to speak. "Darcy, I thought you were going to make things right with Elizabeth, but instead you made her cry and once again I was deprived of the company of my dear Jane and you were nowhere to be found. Will you not tell me what occurred? I gather your supposition of the contents of Mrs. Wickham's letter to Elizabeth must have been wrong."

"Bingley, do you think I am blind to my faults? Am I selfish and uncaring?"

"Do you truly want to hear my answer?" Bingley answered.

"Perhaps I do not want to, but I think I must," Darcy responded. "I trust that you will be honest with me."

"I think, perhaps, everyone is a bit blind to their faults," Bingley began. "You are not uncaring, at least not toward me, your sister or Elizabeth, however the way you care for people is rather more controlling and high handed then they may wish. You would do anything for those closest to you, but that anything is what seems right to you, rather than what may in fact may be the best for them."

"Any interference I may have made in regard to you was always with your best interests in mind," Darcy commented.

"Your intentions may have been laudable, but who appointed you God to arrange the lives of us mere mortals? You have not his wisdom! Did you not follow me to London and once there seek to convince me (along with my sisters) that Jane was indifferent to me and rail against the impropriety of such a connection? And then when you received better information from her sister that Jane was in fact miserable from my desertion, did you try to communicate this to me? Why no, because then you would have to admit you were wrong. I believe that even now you would still be trying to enforce that separation and would have discouraged me from returning to Netherfield if you had not since decided that you would do all within your power to improve Elizabeth's opinion of you and finally win her hand and the best way of doing so was to further the happiness of her sister. Is that not the height of selfishness to act for your own gain rather than in compassion for the suffering of your fellow man?"

Darcy shook his head a little, but made no comment. Wickham was a bit surprised at the dressing down the usually quite pleasant and amiable Bingley was giving to Darcy. It seemed that his questions had opened a floodgate.

"You never confessed your wrong to me in concealing Jane's very presence in London from me, much less asked my forgiveness for this deception. Indeed, I would never have learned that you did this, were it not for Elizabeth finally telling Jane of your admissions in that regard in the letter you wrote to Elizabeth, which she shared finally with her sister in full after we were already engaged. You were quite fortunate that my present happiness prevented me focusing overmuch on the past miserable months before that, that my resentments are of a more temporary nature than your own. And this is how you behave to one who is your friend. Yes, I do think you are blind to your faults, or if not blind, then pretend to have blindness to your faults and you have faults enough for any man."

Darcy appeared stunned. While Bingley's voice was mostly controlled, even and not overly loud throughout all he said, there was a certain sharpness to his tone at certain points.

"Truly I always meant to aid you to the best of my ability, though upon further reflection it is clear that I was somewhat misguided. I was wrong to never confess where I erred and seek absolution from you." Darcy told him.

"Yet even now, do you not see that you cannot bring yourself to do it? You say you were wrong but never said that to me directly, never apologized for the misery you caused to both me and Jane. Fortunately she is as forgiving as me, or rather more so. She has urged my forbearance as we are to be brothers and you never meant either of us ill. Yet this is how you treat those you care for best, how you cared for me, one of the few men you claim as a close friend. As to those that you do not claim as belonging to you, you seem rather indifferent to them, as if both their joys and sufferings are as nothing to you."


	23. Chapter 22

**Thanks Pemsnowy; no giving up for this gal as just as much as you all I want to see how this one resolves. Haruko Higurashi and guest, you only got the first portion of Bingley and Darcy's conversation. I agree that Darcy should not necessarily be raked over the coals for something he did when yet a child. However, for Elizabeth it is more that he cannot admit to his mistake than what he did in the first place. The tricky part of this story is since it is from Wickham's observation we do not know what is going on in ODC's minds but only what they share verbally. Elizabeth has shown herself to be rather hard headed in keeping up her dislike of Darcy in canon and here is having to confront the fact that Darcy (who she first thought was horrible to Wickham and then thought was the only good person between the two of them, who she wrongfully condemned and proved his worth by saving her sister) has his own faults as well. In short, she still has some growing up to do in learning that the world is not all black and white. Happywife, thanks for commenting; the KJV isn't my favorite either but you are right about why I am using it. Nanciellen, thanks as always!**

 **Unfortunately for me, I am up right now in the middle of the night with a bad cold, but hey at least I can spend some time finding out what comes next and give you a short chapter.**

"Let me do so now, Bingley," Darcy replied, looking at his friend. "Please accept my apology. I should not have interfered as I did. I am sorry that I had not the bravery to admit my mistakes. It is obvious to me now, seeing your happiness together, that Jane is an excellent match for you despite the impropriety of her mother and younger sisters. High handed I may have been, but you chose to defer to me and your sisters, chose to stay away from her. Netherfield was still here, your lease was paid, it was your choice to stay away."

"I thank you for that. And this right here is why we are still friends," Bingley replied, "you can take the high road, you can admit your faults though it is not easy for you, and you are willing to show me mine as well. I know at least initially, that you were trying to do what was best for me. If Jane's heart were different, my pain in our parting would have been better than the pain of a loveless marriage. Your motives were pure while my sisters acted from selfishness, hoping to pair me with someone who would advance their consequence. I know I share the blame for what occurred, but when you had better knowledge you could have spared me months of agony."

Here Darcy nodded, "That was wrong of me."

Bingley gave a slight smile and a nod. "As a younger brother, I am used to listening to the advice of my elders in rank, birth and understanding. You were certain when I was uncertain, you were resolute when I feared making a mistake, you knew what was best when I knew was not sure if my inclination was correct. Your fortitude has spared me from problematic investments when I wished to please our Cambridge classmates that came to me with that opportunity: you knew the questions to ask; you were not swayed by pretty words but by demonstrable facts which they lacked; you did not care that a refusal would cause disparagement as you knew you were right; we both saw how it ended up for those classmates and their investors. I understand you are used to making decisions as the master of an estate, of arranging things to minimize risk, being prudent instead of impulsive. But matters of the heart cannot be reduced simply to a math equation; love cannot be replaced by prudence. I think you have learned that yourself in being willing to take a risk with Elizabeth. She is worth it; Jane is worth it. If I had simply wished to marry well, I agree that my Jane would not have been the best choice, but what she lacks in dowry and relations, she more than makes up for in how we both feel towards the other. My personality can be too yielding. I wish to please others, make things pleasant, think well of my fellow man. I believe I make you less cynical and you make me more practical."

"Yes, I think each of us can help pull the other into balance. I am glad we have finally talked about this matter. In the future, how am I to behave if I fear you are making a mistake?"

"Perhaps we can talk it through together. I want to see from your perspective what I do not. I want the steadiness of your temper to balance me, but I also need you to tell me when you are unsure of something or if you gain additional information that alters your perception. Do not hide things from me. I must ultimately weigh things for myself, balance the scales."

"I would value your perception now, Bingley," Darcy told him. "I have made a mess of things I fear. Elizabeth was upset with me for something that Lydia disclosed to Elizabeth that Wickham told her. There is an event that occurred between myself and Wickham when we were both children. What a boy of eleven thinks of a matter should not necessarily be what a man thinks of it when he reflects back upon it. Wickham certainly sees it differently than I did."

"Few of us would be proud if we looked back upon some of our conduct as children," Bingley responded. "I used to pull Caroline's hair and abuse Louisa about her teeth. One time I threw a cat at Caroline and she still bears the scars of its scratches upon her arm; it is why she is so particular about her sleeves and gloves."

"Did you ever apologize to her?"

Bingley nodded, "Only because my father made me. I was not at all sorry at the time."

"And since then?"

"A few years back I gave her a genuine apology. It is a strange matter, but I think she had lingering anger whether she would have ever acknowledged it or not. However, after I gave her a true apology our relationship improved. There were so many little petty things she used to do to me, things I had become accustomed to, thought were just a part of her, but after I apologized there was a smoothing away of these small things."

"I think I did something worse than throwing a cat at Wickham," Darcy confided, "and perhaps he has been seeking retribution all these years."


	24. Chapter 23

**Thanks for all the reviews! It has been quite a treat.**

"How egotistical!" Wickham opined. "Darcy thinks my life choices a mere reaction to his actions from long ago?"

"So they are not?" Rebecca asked, one eyebrow slightly raised.

"Of course not. My choices are my own."

"So Darcy is not to blame for your actions?"

"I see what you are doing, Rebecca," Wickham told her. "You are a sly one. You are getting me to admit that I bear the burden for my life choices, or rather I already accidentally admitted that but you are making me own up to the fact that I cannot blame them on him, to see what I said in a moment of pique is indeed true and it is. Darcy does not have that much power over me, he never did. He could cajole, request, order and beseech me to do something, much like he did at the pond, and it was my own decision what action to take."

He pondered a bit before adding, "It is like what Darcy did in regard to Bingley and Jane. Darcy does not fully bear the responsibility of their separation; Bingley had to defer, to accept what Darcy said and could have chosen differently. And however misguided Lydia may have been to run off with me, it was her decision, too. Without question, though, Darcy's actions in the days that followed the near drowning gave me a reason to hate, a reason I did not have before, and the hating changed me somehow."

"And yet you asked me to help save him," Rebecca commented.

"Yes, that is so, though now it seems he may eventually get to the right answer on his own, or rather through Bingley's help."

"If he does, will you be able to let go of your hate?"

"I do not know. The boy I was from long ago wants justice, wants him to be punished, and even just wants his friendship again. However, I do not see how that could ever be possible. If his actions did not sever our relationship forever then my own actions since then have. Darcy values honor highly, at least his version of honor, and will never forgive my attempt to win Georgiana. I will admit that I mostly valued her for her money and wanted to have the power to take her away from him, but I did feel something for her. She was a sweet child when I knew her. She was kind, like her mother and father. While reserved with strangers, she treated everyone she knew as important, rank and status were insignificant to her. She truly saw those around her, not just her expectations of who they were, and took an interest in us all. One could not help but love her for it."

"And Darcy was not like her?"

"No. I recall his valet was a fine fellow, but Darcy knew nothing more about him than his name. And why? Because he was a mere servant."

Meanwhile, Bingley was waiting for Darcy to begin, while Darcy stared into the fire some more, thinking it seemed about the past. When he began to speak it was almost a whisper, his voice directed to the fire rather than turning toward his friend. Wickham immediately halted his discourse with Rebecca to listen.

"I have told you before that when we were young boys, Wickham and I were friends. The divide in our stations did not matter as much then, but as I grew older I came to know that I would be master of Pemberley someday and his path in life would be far more humble. I learned his family was entirely dependent upon mine. His father, God rest his soul, while a skilled manager of the estate could not manage his own wife and her spending placed them in a state of near poverty. (I have seen shades of this in how Mr. Bennet allows his wife to spend too much and I daresay it colored my impression of them; while they must live within their means, by failing to require more thrift to provide for the future, but for our involvement Mr. Bennet could be dooming his widow and unmarried daughters to a life of genteel poverty.) From this I took the lesson that Wickham's lot in life was decidedly beneath my own. Though we took lessons together, I was the quicker one by far. I do not mean to malign him for that, but it seemed to me that the position my birth had placed me in was well deserved, the predestined and natural order of things. While I had seen my father's condescension to his staff, he made sure they never had any doubt that he was the master. I began trying to emulate my father, to be a smaller version of him. I began to see George not as my friend, but as my servant. After all, he could neither expect nor deserve more. I daresay that Wickham did not understand how my expectations of our relationship had altered. However, we still played together as there was no one else of my age."

"Thus far you have spoken in generalities. Was the cat you threw at Wickham merely this whole shift in attitude?" Bingley inquired.

"There was a specific incident," Darcy acknowledged, "but I am trying to set the stage for my actions, actions that to me seemed good and right. Actions that I never had cause to question before. And every wrong Wickham later committed confirmed to me the rightness of my previous conduct, that he was not deserving of more."

"Just get on with it Darcy," Wickham urged. Then to Rebecca, "I wish to know his version and whether Bingley can get through to him.

As if Darcy heard Wickham's entreaty, he finally began. "In the autumn shortly after I had my eleventh birthday, my father presented both me and Wickham with made to scale wooden boats. Naturally, mine was a fine craft," here Darcy's hands stretched wide to indicate the boat's size, "and Wickham's was slapdash, but my father rightly divined that it would be far more enjoyable to me to have someone to race my ship with, even if the outcome of each race was almost certain. We were sailing our boats on a clear autumn day and mine was winning as usual when I told Wickham to grab my boat. You see the stream connected to a large pond and I did not want my ship to get lost. Wickham, who was following along with his boat failed to retrieve mine and it was swept out into the pond, while he grabbed his, which was certainly quite selfish of him."

Darcy momentarily paused and taking advantage of the silence, Wickham exclaimed, "I was selfish?"

Darcy continued, oblivious to Wickham's outburst, "My boat was still quite close to the shore then and I again asked him to retrieve it. It is probable that at that juncture he would have merely needed to wade in to retrieve it."

"Of all the revisionist nonsense," Wickham commented, "he never asked me to get his boat until it had already been swept far into the pond; he just assumed I should get it."

"However, Wickham refused and it became clear to me that I would have to get it myself. I did not want to get my clothes wet, so I stripped myself bare and waded in after my boat, but it soon became apparent that it was no longer a matter of wading and I would have to swim after it. By this time I was quite annoyed and perhaps not exercising the best of judgment, but I determined that swimming for it should not be too arduous or beyond my talents. However, I had not anticipated how cold the water was or how quickly I would become tired and find myself in a spot of trouble."

"A spot of trouble, a spot of trouble?" Wickham exclaimed. "More like you would have drowned for sure over your own idiocy."

"Wickham came in after me and had the foresight to bring a floating branch with him. He retrieved me and brought me to the branch and we held onto it together and kicked for the shore."

"Has he no idea how difficult it was to rescue him, how he almost drowned me himself?"

"Wickham began to get into trouble before we reached that shore and for the last bit of our adventure, I had to retrieve him."

"That is true, but only based on the effort it took to rescue him."

"When we reached the side of the pond he could go no further, so I fetched help and he had the privilege of recuperating in a fine guest bed at Pemberley."

"Yes, and Darcy lied about rescuing me, claiming I went into the water first."

"Every attention was paid to Wickham and I dare say he enjoyed himself immensely, what a reward for a few minutes of struggle after his willful insolence in disobeying me."

"I nearly died, I was weak for months. He disobeyed the rules by going in the pond in the first place."

"My father thought he deserved yet a further reward and requested that I give him my ship."

Wickham nodded. He noticed that Bingley, who had remained silent, had a less pleasant expression on his face than what his countenance was earlier.

"Wickham certainly did not deserve any such accolade. Yet my father had left the decision up to me. I suppose it was cruel of me to burn the boats in front of him rather than just giving him his ship back, but I had no wish to ever sail with him again. I suppose I was jealous that my father had taken such notice of him, the notice I deserved as his son. I broke all ties with Wickham, thought that would end the matter, and yet he continued to be a favorite of my father's and to him Wickham could do no wrong."

Wickham made no reply to this, only shook his head back and forth in disbelief. _Do you not know that any love your father ever showed to me was rooted in his love of you, his gratitude that he still had you?  
_


	25. Chapter 24

**Guest, thanks for your well wishes, unfortunately I am still being plagued by my horrible cold and I have now completely lost my voice. I had a productive day at work and actually feel better today but will probably be taking a sick day tomorrow as the squeak that passed for my voice was scaring everyone. Hey, at least I can still write!  
**

 **Guest, yes Darcy will get to understand Wickham's POV better though imperfectly through Bingley (see the chapter below). Liysyl and Gedoena, I have wondered why Darcy didn't tell Bingley earlier, too, so was glad to get a partial answer here. Nanciellen, thanks as always for your encouragement. DaisyDawn82, thanks so much and glad you have joined us. Yes, Gedoena, Darcy is the same Darcy we are just getting Wickham's take and Haruko Higugashi you are meant to be disquieted, Wickham is not supposed to be as good as Darcy, he is an unreliable narrator and this is largely from his POV (but also Rebecca's and later Muck's). Happywife, I enjoyed writing the different perspectives and imagined Wickham responding to Darcy as if it was a play with a spotlight on two scenes, a sort of bi-monologue if there is such a thing. In fact I can imagine most of this story in my head as a play, with certain scenes projected on a screen behind the actors as they comment on it and that's been rather fun to visualize.** **Guests, glad you are invested, so here is an update for you.**

"I have a few questions," Bingley commented.

"Ask away," Darcy responded. As Darcy had been giving his account he had a certain nervous energy, but once he completed it he seemed more relaxed and at ease. He was now turned toward Bingley instead of toward the fire.

Bingley steepled his fingers and then cracked his knuckles. He straightened himself up and then asked, "Did you have any supervision or rules when playing on the estate?"

"No one was assigned to watch us if that is what you are getting at. We shared a tutor but he helped with bookkeeping in the afternoons. I had not had a governess for years. Any of the staff would have assisted us if needed, but no one was necessarily nearby while we played. We were to stay with and help each other. We were not to wander too far, we were to keep our clothes in good repair and to not do anything that would make for extra work for the staff. Our autonomy depended on how well we were able to conform to what was expected of us. It was an ideal sort of childhood for the both of us."

"Did you have any rules regarding the pond?" Bingley asked.

"Not rules exactly," Darcy hedged, "More like guidelines. As I said, we were to manage our own affairs and use good judgment." He squirmed a bit in his seat.

Wickham observed to Rebecca, "Bingley should know him well enough to know what that squirming means. It is a good thing that Darcy is a stodgy sort and only engages in parlor games as he has many tells."

"From everything you have told me, your father was a diligent parent and master."

"He certainly was." Darcy replied mildly. He sat attentively, his hands folded over each other on his lap and Wickham recognized his posture as his school pose.

Wickham could tell where this was going and quite astonished that Darcy did not seem to likewise know. "Nice baiting of the trap, Bingley. Not bad, not bad."

Bingley scooted himself a bit forward in his seat, looking as if ready to spring up like a jack in the box. He tapped his finger to his lips, then asked, "So do you expect me to believe he would not do everything to protect his only son and godson by diligently drilling into you rules about the pond, water and safety?"

Darcy looked decidedly uncomfortable. "Fine, there were rules, but we were becoming young men; I was to learn to be the master."

"Tell me the rules Darcy. I know you must remember them."

Darcy rubbed his hands against his thighs.

"Sweating are we?" Wickham asked rhetorically. "You thought old Bing would just pleasantly back you up, did you not? But now he shows some backbone and some talent with inquisition."

Darcy looked up as if seeing the rules before him. As he began to recite them in order, Wickham joined in after the first couple of words and said them with him.

"Around water, any water, always beware.  
The pond and stream are dangerous, always take care.  
Never run around water; you could slip and fall.  
No roughhousing or carousing, one and all.  
Before you dip in a toe, do not you forget,  
keep your friends close before you get your feet wet.  
If you have not a watchman only wading is allowed;  
keep the water below your knees and the master will be proud.  
If you want to swim, every child must fetch together  
a strong swimming man, a trusty observer.  
Never ever ever ever swim without adult supervision;  
these rules are set in stone, there is no revision.  
Keep these rules and you will be just fine,  
When you follow the rules, you will have a good time."

"That is quite the list," Bingley observed, "he was very thorough."

"Yes," Darcy commented, "I taught them to Georgiana just as they were taught to me. It is a Pemberley tradition; all the tenants' children are taught likewise. There has never been a drowning at Pemberley since my grandfather's time."

"My father taught me the list," Wickham reminisced to himself.

"I do not see how you could be following them when you ordered Wickham to get your boat out of the pond," Bingley commented, crossing his arms and tilting his head slightly.

"You have him there!" Wickham commented gleefully.

Darcy looked embarrassed. "That is true."

"That stream at Pemberley moves pretty quickly, does it not?" Bingley uncrossed his arms and leaned forward.

"Yes, to keep up with our boats we almost had to trot."

"So if your boat was in the lead, you would be the one closest to it, correct?"

"Yes, I suppose so." Darcy looked a little cross.

"So it should have been easier for you to reach your boat before it reached the pond than it would have been for Wickham to get it."

"Yes." Darcy looked embarrassed.

"I knew I liked you Bingley," Wickham declared.

"Still," Bingley commented, "you might have been able to get your boat yourself if you went right in after it, but you would have gotten wet."

"Yes." Darcy looked quite dismayed by this point.

"But you thought it would be fine for Wickham to get his clothes all wet instead of you. And maybe risk breaking the rules."

Darcy leaned his elbows on his knees and cradled his face in his hands, closing his eyes as if he could not bear to look at Bingley. "I was a right arse, was I not? And then I was a fool. He wanted to go fetch help and I refused."

"How good was your swimming then?" Bingley asked, his tone gentler now, as if they were having just another calm discussion. "As I recall that is not particularly your sport."

"No, it is not, though I am better than I was."

Bingley idly, seemingly casually, scratched at his sideburn. "So you were probably in more than a spot of trouble if Wickham had to get a log to save you."

"I suppose that is right." Somehow, Bingley seemed to grown larger as Darcy shrunk down, his shoulders turned in a bit.

"And you are quite a bit taller and bigger than Wickham, is not that so. Probably always were."

"Yes, that is so. Everyone used to think I was the elder instead of him. You know my mother even saved my clothes to give to him and his mother still had to take them in quite a bit."

"While people weigh less in water, I have heard it can be difficult to save those who think they are drowning." Bingley's tone was conversational, but his look was not. "It is not uncommon for a drowning man to accidentally also drown his rescuer, even when the rescuer is quite a bit bigger. So if you were panicking, you might have given him quite a dunking, and pond water is not exactly good for the lungs I hear."

"Dear God!" Darcy exclaimed, "Sweet Mary and Joseph! He was coughing a lot when I visited him after I was released from my bed, but I thought he was faking it, to gain my sympathy."

"Ah Bingley, you are doing a bang up job. I would gladly hire you as my barrister!" Wickham exclaimed to himself.

"And Wickham was still confined to his bed I wager and you were not if you went to see him."

"I did not stay in my bed like I was supposed to before I was released, so I doubt he did either," Darcy defended.

"But you were in your own chambers and probably had many toys and games as the only Darcy child, yes?"

"And the point of this?"

"You said he stayed in a guest room."

"Yes, so?" Wickham could tell that Darcy was getting annoyed, though he was trying not to.

"Did he have any of his playthings there?"

Darcy wrinkled his brow a bit and looked up, as if struggling to recall. "If he did have any it could not have been much, but Wickham never had many toys anyway as I recall."

"So what did he have to do if he was out of bed?"

Darcy shrugged.

"Why was he not back with his parents?"

"Probably because there were more servants to attend to him at Pemberley. The Wickhams only had the one maid, Sally."

"But if he was not ill, why would it have mattered how many servants they had?"

Darcy's eyelids opened wide, making his eyes appear larger. His mouth sagged open and the color drained from his face. Then he shook his head slightly, snapping his jaw shut. He covered the bottom of his face with one hand, covering his mouth, but then abruptly dropped that hand into his lap; it made a clapping noise.

He said, "Elizabeth was right; I have been willfully blind. Could it be that my selfish acts and rejection of the man who was once my closest friend set him on the road to depravity and dissipation? Oh may God forgive me!"


	26. Chapter 25

**This chapter rounds out the last one. Regarding Wickham's visions, do you all want to see Jane's and Elizabeth's pow-wow or skip straight to the conversation between Darcy and Elizabeth the next day?  
**

 **While this chapter is a bit preachy, I think it fits where we are in the story. From Bingley's discussion of the song lyrics there are unquoted references to Luke 15:11-32 (prodigal son story), various references to the blind receiving their sight in the gospels, and Acts 9 and Acts 22 (which detail the conversion of Saul to Paul and him watching and condoning the stoning of Stephen); the quoted verse** **is Romans 3:23.**

 **I'm no better and had to get my husband to call up and get me an appointment with the nurse practitioner. Maybe antibiotics can help.**

"I suppose Darcy will not need your help, after all," Wickham commented.

He watched as Bingley gave Darcy a sympathetic look and told him, "These are hard truths to recognize. However, you were but a child. I cannot see the man I know acting thusly now. You cannot change the past, only the future. You are not responsible for all Wickham has become. He is a man who was given many advantages in life and has squandered them. Even now you have given him a new opportunity to improve himself; what he does with it is up to him. The more clearly you see things, the better you can strive to be in the future."

"Still, I was blind. Willfully blind. It is apparent I made many assumptions, interpreted many things in my favor, saw my place in the world as far above his and did not recognize the sacrifices Wickham made for me."

"Have you heard of John Newton?"

Darcy shook his head in negation. Wickham did not have any idea who the man was, either.

Rebecca gave a bright smile and happy nod. Wickham noticed that a radiance seemed to brighten her countenance, there was both a literal and figurative glow about her.

In response to Wickham's questioning look, Rebecca told him, "Newton is one of our shining success stories, a beacon for the lost to become found."

"Not a lot of people have," Bingley told Darcy, "though he has a tune that is becoming quite popular in the former colonies. His personal story is quite fascinating, also. I only know about him because my father's business concerns involve the Americas and one of my uncles in negotiating some of our contracts there went to a revival meeting and learned his song and story. When he returned, he shared it with our family."

"Have I said something that made you think of this, Newton was it?, of him just now?" Darcy asked.

"Let me see if I can remember the lyrics, apparently it is set to more than one tune as when my uncle sang it to us he told me that another associate of his disagreed with him about the tune he used, though they both knew the same words." My uncle said his was the correct one, but the hymnody that he saw it in had no music, just has it as a poem. Bingley hummed a bit before singing a tune:

"Amazing grace! (how sweet the sound)  
That sav'd a wretch like me!  
I once was lost, but now am found,  
Was blind, but now I see."

The words hung over them; Darcy looked thoughtful.

Bingley either could not remember further words or did not choose to sing them. Then Rebecca started to sing the same lyrics to another tune and continued on with additional words to Bingley's. Her voice was sweet and pure, superior to anything that Wickham had ever heard before, and like sunlight from a window, the brightness of her countenance shone upon him. Wickham felt the power of the words, though when she was done he most clearly remembered the words that both Rebecca and Bingley sang. Whether she was completely finished with the song, she stopped singing when Bingley resumed talking.

"Newton was a slaver, a rough man even among hardened sailors, among the worst of the worst. He gradually changed his ways after, in a moment of despair on a ship likely to go down, he cried out to God for mercy. He worked with Wilberforce to get Parliament to abolish the slave trade, an effort that is still ongoing. I find his lyrics powerful because he admits to his struggles with sin and ties his struggles to the story of the prodigal son and how Jesus healed the blind, and even how Saint Paul (then Saul), a pious Jew who observed and encouraged the stoning of Saint Stephen, was temporarily struck blind so that when he had renewed sight he could see the error of his ways. I am not suggesting you were wholly blind or needed such saving more than another: 'For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God;' however to change in dependence on God we must see the errors of our ways. Wickham and men far worse than him are not beyond saving."

Bingley and Darcy continued to talk on in such a vein, while Wickham and Rebecca had their own conversation.

"In answer to your earlier observation, I do not think that Darcy needs my help. It is well if he does not. He has belonged to us for quite some time, but has needed some refining. All of us do," Rebecca remarked.

"He is fortunate to have a friend like Bingley, who has helped him along the way. So loyal and true, more than he deserves."

"There have been plenty of people in your life, Wickham, who have wanted to help you, but you turned them away one by one. There are many more waiting. However, when someone has tried to really care for you, share a hard truth, you rejected them. You do not take correction kindly. You wish to make your own way, to be your own master, though you should know by now that you are not skilled at living your own life as you ought. You have willfully deceived yourself at many junctures, but we have not given up on you. You needed to hear what Bingley said to Darcy more than Darcy needed to hear it for himself."

"But is that it? Will Elizabeth forgive him and all be resolved if he just admits the truth of what he did? Does he not owe me something, too? Should he not share all that he has with me as he sinned against me, never gave me my due? He has been selfish in many ways and what has he truly done to make things right with me or Bingley? He still needs to mend his character in a myriad of ways."

Rebecca gave Wickham a slightly cold look, "Have you learned nothing yet? You wanted him to be humbled for how he has fallen short and indeed he was brought low and has learned something from it, is open to change. Are you open to such a humbling of your own? What shall I do with you? You still want someone to blame, still want to point out the error of his ways and ignore your own. You are still listening to the servant of the evil one when you know better. As it is said in Matthew 7:5, 'Thou hypocrite, first cast out the beam out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother's eye.' Now which of you do you think has the mote and which of you the plank?"


	27. Chapter 26

**For those of you wondering how I am, I am improved with the antibiotics but still can't talk. I had take care of two important matters yesterday by writing on a dry erase board I brought with me. I had to take my sick dog to the vet (she was having accidents) and to attend an ARC/IEP meeting for my special needs daughter to plan her transition out of high school. It made for some interesting moments but we all made it work. Our dog is now on meds for a UTI and it looks like our daughter will qualify for job assistance through our state's department of vocational rehabilitation, which is good news. She's made progress since we've had her and I am hopeful about her future.**

With no warning, the mist came and Wickham found himself back in his own bed.

"I will return tomorrow night," Rebecca told him. "I hope you will use your time to reflect on the messages that you have heard and consider your actions and where you have been wrong. Your hate has been a cage which holds you tight. Can you not open the door and exit it?"

Wickham lay awake a long time. His thoughts were confused and disjointed and when he finally drifted to sleep he dreamed he was still awake, then woke up, then went back to sleep. It seemed but a moment after he closed his eyes for the final time that Lydia was shaking him awake; "It is past the time for your leaving you must hurry."

Then he was dashing around to dress and was out the door before he could think about anything. He ran to reach his post and was late. The formations had already been formed and he needed to bear the flag. His commanding officer, Lieutenant Egerton, berated him for his tardiness in front of the whole company and Wickham tried his best to look stoic as he took it. He was fortunate that corporal punishment was not forthcoming.

After the men were dismissed for the day, Wickham was just leaving when Lieutenant Egerton pulled him aside and told him that he and Captain Watts wanted to talk to him. Wickham was worried they were going to announce some forthcoming punishment to him, either for his recent tardiness, his overall lack of effort or just perhaps, they had thought better of not punishing him for his attack on Lieutenant Thrup for his actions toward Lydia.

After Wickham had gotten over his initial anger toward Lieutenant Thrup and Lydia, he knew that Thrup had not meant anything to Lydia, Thrup could have been anyone. Thrup had certainly taken things too far in a public arena, but ultimately that had been to Wickham's benefit as he had been observed and justice had been meted out. Wickham was not sure what would have happened if Thrup had escorted Lydia to a more private location. Would things have gone further? Or was she only interested in making him jealous? In the latter case perhaps nothing would have occurred. However, Lydia had been playing a dangerous game: Wickham knew that some men who believed they were offered favors, after such offer was withdrawn, would take them all the same. Wickham hoped he had done no permanent damage to Thrup, when Lydia was almost certainly the instigator. Wickham also regretted hitting Lydia, when she just wanted his attention. However, he did hope that word had gotten around that those who treated his wife in such a manner would feel his fists and that Lydia would take her role as his wife more seriously.

But after a discussion of Wickham's recent conduct as ensign, Captain Watts surprised Wickham when he began speaking about Lydia. "Ensign Wickham, I am concerned that you are not performing up to your abilities because you are distracted by Mrs. Wickham's behavior and the need to keep her in line. She has been making rather a nuisance of herself in hanging about the camp and distracting the men. She is rather young and perhaps does not understand her role here. I believe she needs some occupation, but has refused to be on the strength. While she visits the wives also, they also have their duties to attend to. We have been rather shorthanded for laundry duties, or perhaps she could assist with tending to children. Does she have any practical skills that would be of use to the army?"

"I, too, wanted her to cook or launder, but I am afraid that she has no practice at either of these occupations and may believe they are beneath her. Her father is a landed gentleman and none of his five daughters had any household duties. Mrs. Wickham is the youngest among them. My wife has some sewing skills, which she primarily uses to redesign bonnets and alter dresses. I do not know whether she could make up a garment herself. She can read and write well and do basic figuring."

Lieutenant Egerton responded, "My wife does some mending for the camp and could use assistance."

"Capital idea Lieutenant Egerton, let us have her take a turn with your wife. You agree of course, do you not Ensign Wickham?"

It was clear to Wickham that him being asked was a mere formality, but nevertheless he responded, "That is very generous of you, Lieutenant Egerton."

Captain Watts responded for Egerton, "We need all our soldiers performing up to their abilities. A young, untended wife can be rather a distraction. I am sure Lieutenant Egerton and Ensign Wickham that you can work out all the particulars." With that, Captain Watts departed, likely to seek his dinner.

"I am concerned about you, Ensign Wickham," Egerton told him. "You do not want Captain Watts to take a particular interest in you. All will be well if this resolves the matter and it is in both our best interests that it does. Tomorrow send Mrs. Wickham to my home with her sewing supplies and a novel when you depart. I will suggest to Mrs. Egerton that they spend the first part of the day with her familiarizing Mrs. Wickham with all that is expected of an army wife by showing her what she does and then part of the time taking turns reading aloud while doing mending. Understand that she cannot receive any pay for this as likely my wife could get more done without her assistance. Mrs. Wickham will be expected to remain with my wife until you come to retrieve her. You will remain with your wife in the evenings."

Here Egerton paused and gave Wickham an appraising look. "Unlike Captain Watts, I believe your lack of attention to your duties is caused by other forces and I will not have you carousing when it causes problems with your performance. I think you prefer strong drink, gambling and whoring to honest work, but someone decided you needed another opportunity now that you are married. I have never heard you speak of any family besides that of your wife's, so I imagine someone from her side paid for your posting. Perhaps you compromised the lass or perhaps they just wanted to rid themselves of a silly, silly girl. It does not matter to me; it is none of my concern. My concern is how well your performance reflects on my own. It is only right that a married man should settle down and work hard, and that a married woman does the same. You should have seen fit to secure a wife that was better trained by her mother. I have seen for myself that Mrs. Wickham is a lovely woman, but looks fade and then it is character that is important. Your lack of prudent planning in who you married is unfortunate, but perhaps can be remedied. Take her in hand and make sure that she does all she can to please my wife. If my Jane is unhappy with the arrangements, Mrs. Wickham's next assignment will be to aid the washerwomen and lye makes women's hands most unbecoming."


	28. Chapter 27

**Sorry for the lengthy delay. I'm better and my voice is back, but I am still exhausted so it has slowed down my writing and I needed to work on getting caught up in the other areas of my life. Too, I knew part of what I wanted to do with this chapter, but the execution was harder with not having my normal powers of concentration.**

Lydia did not take kindly to Wickham's direction that she was to spend her days with Mrs. Egerton. "She is so very old and boring!" Lydia declared. "Why she is almost as old as Mrs. Collins. It will be no fun to help her mend."

"Life is not about fun," Wickham told her, feeling that he was sounding more like a parent than like a husband. "The army needs everyone to be productive. When you married me and chose to follow me rather than remain with your family you chose this life and everything you do is a reflection on me. My superiors decided that you cannot manage your own affairs. They say you are a disgrace and a distraction." Wickham silently added, _and I agree_. "The choice is now Mrs. Egerton or learning to be a washer woman."

"But George," Lydia wheedled, climbing on his lap and cradling his head against her chest in a manner calculated to distract him from the orders he was attempting to give, "if I get all tired out mending clothes, I will not be as fun for you when you get home."

Wickham pushed Lydia gently but firmly off his lap and stood up. "Nevertheless Lydia, it is decided and you will be helping Mrs. Egerton. It should not be all bad; you are to bring a novel so you can take turns reading it aloud."

Lydia declared, "But I do not want to go! I always prick my finger when I sew and mending is for maids." She held up her pointer finger, gesturing to the end. Wickham could not distinguish any scar upon it. She then stuck that finger in her mouth and sucked on it in a manner that he believed she meant to be alluring, but reminded him of a child sucking on a thumb.

"Lydia, be reasonable. If you have not noticed, we have not even the funds for a single maid. Perhaps it was wrong to marry you when I could not provide the same life for you that you had when in your father's house, but as I recall you gave me precious little choice and Darcy made it clear what I needed to do given your determination to stay with me."

Lydia gave no reply and pouted the rest of the evening, moving her chair as far as possible away from his as their tiny quarters would allow. Wickham ignored her; while pretending to read a book he thought instead. He was determined to win this battle and show who made the decisions and who needed to obey. He found her childish behavior rather maddening, but supposed that it was only what he deserved for marrying a sixteen year old.

It was the most silent evening he could recall and though he had often wished that Lydia would talk less, he found that he missed her prattling. It gave him too much time to reflect on everything he had seen with Rebecca and to wonder what his forthcoming visions might entail. He wondered if Elizabeth had forgiven Darcy, and what his own future held. He knew that he would soon see a vision of his possible future and imagined it would not be a good one. He also wondered what visions the demon to visit him would bring with him. He liked the idea of a wish, but recalled that in stories wishes could sometimes have unexpected consequences. It was important to consider wishes carefully.

When they went to bed Lydia was still pouting, but then in the dim light she told him, "I will do what you ask George, but I only will do it because do not want you angry at me." Wickham acknowledged her capitulation by pulling her onto his lap, and when divested of their nightclothes they had an enjoyable conclusion to their miserable evening.

Wickham woke up knowing that it was Rebecca waking him. He blinked a few times and then closed his eyes to enter her new vision.

Wickham and Rebecca followed Jane as she went into the chambers she shared with Elizabeth, holding a letter before her.

"Fitzwilliam is waiting past the park but did not want to risk your wrath if you were not willing to speak to him. He gave Charles a letter for me to give to you," Jane announced. "Charles says that Fitzwilliam was a mite confused, but they talked the matter over thoroughly and Fitzwilliam understands now how he was wrong. He hopes that after you read this missive that you will be willing to speak to him."

Wickham watched as Elizabeth eagerly broke the seal and unfolded the letter. He read over her shoulder while Jane waited.

 _My most beloved Elizabeth,_

 _It was never my intent to deceive you by failing to give a true account of my whole association with George Wickham and I am attempting to correct that now. When I discussed the matter with Bingley, he helped me see where I was willfully blind and held me to account for my actions. With this better understanding, it is my desire to humbly beg for your forgiveness and to now attempt to do my best to give you a full and faithful account._

 _George and I grew up as friends. We were companions to each other probably before we were five years of age and almost like brothers though he returned home every night and the toys in my nursery belonged to me alone. As the years went by and I learned more of the world and the divide in our stations, I am afraid that I began to look down upon him and in my vanity thought I deserved all that my station in life had given me and he should be happy to serve me and do what I asked without question._

 _George often did just that, but on the particular occasion that occurred when we were both lads of eleven, I was especially obstinate and unreasonable. I demanded he fetch my boat (that I was careless enough to let drift into the pond), in contravention to all the rules instilled in every child at Pemberley meant to prevent accidental drownings. When he refused, as he was certainly justified both by my manner and all good sense to do, I stubbornly refused to get help and insisted that despite my poor swimming skills I could well fetch it._

 _George would have been within his rights to leave me there and let me drown. I had certainly been the only person to place my life in peril and had treated my friend quite ill. Yet at great risk to his own life he rescued me from my own stupidity, becoming himself imperiled and afterwards gravely ill. I stubbornly insisted that I saved George instead of the reverse and did not believe his illness was genuine. I burned his boat and my own and refused ever more to be friends with him. He had given me nothing but loyalty and true friendship and I used him ill. My father tried to get me to see the error of my ways, but though I listened to his wisdom I had no interest in following it and willfully ignored it._

 _In the months and years that followed, George made overtures to me to repair the breach that I alone had caused, but I rebuffed all his attempts, justifying my continued obstinacy based on my previous ill-founded justifications. Thus I built resentments upon resentments._

 _My father intended to provide for George both because he was his godson and because he believed George deserved a bright future rather than the reduced circumstances his mother caused their family. My father was fond of George for his own sake and because he saved me (though I am afraid I discounted this and was needlessly jealous). Fearing the lasting effect upon his lungs from the drowning, my father arranged a safe occupation for him, but until his last breath I believe my father counted on me to do what was right._

 _After years of me turning my back on George, it is perhaps not surprising that he fell in with friends that were very different from me and lived his life in opposition to my own. Knowing now, through Bingley's wise counsel how blind I was in the perception of those events from long ago, I know that I bear some of the blame for how George ultimately turned out. While he was not my brother and I was not his keeper, I made his life quite difficult._

 _While the George I knew from our university days was not fit for the church, I perhaps should have refused him the value of the living in the hope that ultimately he would have been fit to serve and in doing so denied him the funds to squander._ _I imagine without these funds to support himself that he might have out of necessity sought out an honest occupation. I took the easy road by giving him what he sought, all the while making it clear to him how much I despised him. I never gave him even a shred of compassion or understanding. It is no wonder that eventually he came to resent me and desired to seek revenge._

 _Although Bingley tells me I cannot be wholly to blame for George's conduct, I cannot but look back at my previous actions with abhorrence. I cannot help but wonder what might have been if I gave George the gratitude he deserved and embraced him as my true brother by deed, lauding the sacrifices he made and sharing my birthright with him. Did he not deserve everything? I know not how or whether or in what manner I should try to make things right between us, or whether the attempt even should be made in light of his conduct toward my sister and yours. I place myself in your hands. Can you forgive my actions? Can you advise what I should do to remedy this matter in the future? I need your wisdom my beloved!_

 _I remain your devoted fiance and humble servant, if you will still have me,_

 _Fitzwilliam Darcy_

"Oh Jane," Elizabeth cried when she completed the letter, "I must certainly talk to him at once!" The sisters, arm in arm, hurried down the steps. BIngley, who had been waiting in the parlor, followed them out. The three of them walked quickly to the spot where Darcy waited, nervously watching. When he saw them, he walked eagerly toward them with his lengthy stride. Darcy and Elizabeth paused, a few feet away from each other.

"I plan to take Charles to tour the orchard," Jane told them, but they made no reply. Instead Elizabeth and Darcy stood staring at each other.

Elizabeth was silent until she saw that Jane and Bingley were well away, then she closed part of the gap between them.

"Shall you always write me letters when we have a disagreement?" Elizabeth asked Darcy. Her tone was serious rather than playful.

"I know I need practice in just talking to you and settling things by conversing," Darcy responded, his voice thick with emotion, "but the written word is easier for me somehow. And what of your writing skills? I dare say you probably write some fine correspondence, though I confess I am glad that I did not need to wait for you to write me a response."

"But Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth exclaimed, "A single lady cannot write to a man."

Darcy gave a slight smile and then asked, "So I am Fitzwilliam again rather than Mr. Darcy?"

She nodded and he held out a hand for her which she placed her near hand in. He grasped her hand firmly, and brought it to his arm, bidding that she take it. He resumed walking with Elizabeth on his arm and stared in front of himself when he resumed speaking.

"Surely your beloved fiance who has gotten himself in trouble, had to talk the matter over with his friend to understand how he had erred so many years ago, had to face his mistake and apologized most abjectly as to how he had unintentionally deceived his fiancee who was regretting their engagement, is worthy of a letter from your hand! Could you not break with propriety to write me under such circumstances?"

"No, not even then." Elizabeth paused and turned toward him and he toward her. "And I was too quick to turn against you when you did not even know what Lydia had written. I must learn to be less quick to judge. When we are married, if you go away I shall write to you then."

"So it is a 'when' rather than an 'if'?" Darcy's eyes searched Elizabeth's. Seeing confirmation apparently of what he hoped to find in them, Darcy reached out his free arm to gently stroke the side of Elizabeth's face with his hand. She let go of his arm to turn toward him.

"Dearest Elizabeth," Darcy's voice cracked with emotion, "if I had lost you once again through my own pride and stupidity, I do not know what I would do." His eyes' intense gaze met hers and then Elizabeth was leaning toward Darcy, her hands pressed against his chest and he toward her, stooping down and encircling her body with one arm as he tilted her chin upwards with the hand that had been stroking her face.

Wickham saw their lips meet in a short but tender kiss, break away then meet once more. He wondered if those kisses were the first they had exchanged. He was rather annoyed that all he got to see was them making up and not Darcy groveling. Of course, Darcy had groveled on paper and not in person.

Wickham knew if it had been him, he would have been doing more than merely kissing Elizabeth, but as Darcy was not him, Darcy gave Elizabeth one last tiny kiss and then released her. They stood quite near each other, both of them catching their breaths before Elizabeth gave her response.

"Why certainly I mean to marry you Fitzwilliam!" She grasped his arm then and leaned into it a bit. "And not just because having accepted your proposal I am obligated to do so. Can you not understand? I was angry, but Jane made me see last night that I was erring when I expected you to be perfect. Not one of us is. I often say to Jane that she is too good in her belief in people, but what I am really saying is that I am not good enough in seeing the good in others, I am too quick to find the flaws in everyone, their foibles and to laugh at them rather than trying to help them or to correct the defects in my own character. The important thing is that you were willing to examine your life, how you had fallen short and what you did wrong. I dare say that I will need forgiveness myself upon occasion." They then resumed walking, though both were looking at each other and not the path ahead.

Darcy said simply, "Should you ever need it, it will be freely given."

Elizabeth nodded. "As to what ought to be attempted relative to my brother Wickham, that will require much consideration. Any evil in your actions toward him in your boyhood cannot excuse the deliberate actions he took while well into his majority. He had choices to make, just like all of us. He chose bitterness and revenge for his bedfellows, rather than brushing off your misguided reaction and choosing right despite your wrong towards him. I wager he may have blamed you for many a year, but it was Wickham himself that chose those friends, that manner of living and to cheat his way into fortune with your sister and to misuse mine. Jane thinks I ought to rejoice in the fact that Wickham has not always been the amalgamation of flaws we now know him to be, that it means there is a chance for him to change his ways, but I think that it is unlikely that he will ever change."

"I will await your wisdom as to what if anything I should do relative to him." Darcy told her. "For now, let me rejoice in the fact that your feelings towards me are unchanged."

"Unchanged they are not." Elizabeth declared, pulling him a bit closer to her side. "In imagining how I might go on without you, I can only conclude that my feelings have only deepened and strengthened. I declare no one shall be as happy as the two of us, not even Jane and Bingley. I only regret that my sister Lydia shall never know the joy of being joined with a husband that would put her needs above his own, would sacrifice everything for her, would want to be his best self for her and would shed all past resentments and callous feelings, would throw light on all the ugliness in his soul to free himself from bondage of his past misdeeds, in order to be worthy of her."

"I doubt I shall ever be truly worthy of you," Darcy commented. He leaned in again and this time Elizabeth raised herself on her tip toes to meet his lips. This kiss was longer that the ones from before and when Darcy finally pulled back, Elizabeth gave a little sigh.

Wickham found himself becoming impatient while watching them kiss. All the affection between Darcy and Elizabeth too sweet, yet he also felt envy.

Darcy's focus was entirely on Elizabeth. "From what you have told me and from what I observed on her wedding day, Lydia is happy with the choice she made."

"Yes," Elizabeth replied, "but she will never have what we do. When the Wickhams visited Longbourn it was obvious to me that Lydia's affection for Wickham is much stronger than his for her. She fancies they care equally for each other, but that is only because Lydia does not understand what she has never seen and does not have. She fancies that theirs is a great love story, but that is only because she had never experienced love like the kind we share. I am afraid that when she awakes from that dream that she will have years of resentment and bitterness ahead of her. Oh to be married to such a scoundrel, to have to live with the effects of all his misdeeds, to bear his children and share the life of someone that ultimately cannot be respected, when she eventually realizes he cares nothing much for her, that is too awful a fate to contemplate. I hope she continues in her ignorance for a long, long time yet."

Darcy looked earnestly at Elizabeth, "Perhaps rather than hoping for that, we should pray that George's heart might yet be softened, that he might own up to his own misdeeds and come to appreciate and love Lydia."

Elizabeth forced a bitter laugh, "The man that came to Longbourn had no shame or remorse. I think he is beyond saving."


	29. Chapter 28

**Writing on my phone and tablet while on my trip to see my dad (who is out of the hospital and in a skilled nursing facility for rehab) so please forgive spelling errors. Writing is a good distractio** **n** **and something to do when waking up way too early alone in my dad's empty house.** **So here is a short chapter.**

 **By the way, just learned yesterday of news reports that Johnson and Johnson knew some of their talcum powder was contaminated with asbestos (apparently deposits of the two substances are often found near each other) and did nothing about it, thereby exposing all of us who used it to potentially being at risk for mesothelioma. And of course I used it for a couple of years for work purposes to set makeup and I'm sure I inhaled the stuff. Lovely, right?**

"I am not a hopeless cause, am I?" Wickham asked Rebecca. He heard a slight whine in his voice when he asked that question. He did not want to be pitied or humored, coddled or consoled. He wanted her to honestly tell him that everything would be fine.

Rebecca gave him a solemn look, "That Wickham is entirely in your hands. God's grace is freely available to you, but you must be willing to accept it. So far any desire I feel in you to do so is restrained by the chains of your selfish nature, chains that you have fashioned yourself from links made of resentment. I have one final vision to show you, perhaps that yet will make a difference."

"Do you mean to show it to me now?" He asked.

"I leave it to you to decide," she responded.

"Yes, let us conclude this matter," Wickham said decisively, feeling anything but decisive. _I do not wish to be a hopeless cause, but if hopeless I am I might as well finish with this purgatory of the powers that be fighting over me like two dogs tugging on one bone. Then I can get on with living my life such as it is without them focusing on me._

Muck whispered in his ear, "You are so very important to have such attention. God cares because you were treated unfairly over and over. Why will He not avenge you?"

In Wickham's quarters Rebecca considered what to do to combat Muck, who was on Wickham's chest. Muck was normally invisible to human sight and his words always appeared to his subjects as their own thoughts unless he made himself known. Rebecca who could see both what humans did and beyond their visible spectrum, into infrared and ultra violet, saw Muck as lots of little infrared particles clumped together. Currently, he was a misshapen thing that clung to Wickham with irregular tentacles that snaked through every opening on Wickham's face.

This interaction was euphemistically referred to as "whispering in the ear" because the reality was too awful. A soul strengthened by God's power could push demons out, but a soul like Wickham's, thinned out by years of misuse had many holes, a sort of swiss cheese on a microscopic level which a demon could thread through to reach the brain. Rebecca could see bits of Muck twisting its way through Wickham's mouth, nostrils, eye sockets and ears, following nerves and directly interacting with his brain, with Wickham's soul no protection at all. In reaction to Muck's whispering Wickham was again feeling that he was a wronged party.

Rebecca was frustrated but tried to not let her frustration show to Muck. She had such hopes when first given this assignment but wondered now whether Wickham's lasting resentment of Darcy, which still clouded his perception and overlay everything could ever be overcome and if Wickham could objectively see how he himself was wrong. Rebecca understood that Wickham still felt too superior to see himself as others did. _Perhaps the vision of his future is what he now needs._ Rebecca paused to pray earnestly for Wickham's redemption. She felt peace come over her as she again placed the outcome in God's hands. She, herself, did not know what the view of Wickham's future would reveal. She only knew it would track the timeline of how others reacted to his death.

The mist began to form as Rebecca followed Wickham's directive but just as it was the thickest, obscuring both the present and future, she felt a surge of panic from Wickham and he shouted, "Stop!"

She did then, leaving them in the mist as she sensed the mist itself was not the problem."

"I am not ready," Wickham confessed and then asked, "Can we go to the forest instead."

"Of course," she replied. She found herself curious as to what Wickham wanted to talk about before he saw the vision of his future.


	30. Chapter 29

**You know what they say about the best laid plans . . . I had hoped to finish this story by Christmas but it is looking less likely for a variety of reasons including my other WIP demanding attention, my father's illness (he is much better by the way and will be hopefully be home from rehab by about the new year), and just life in general. I've had some travel woes that delayed and interrupted my return home by two days. Now I'm sitting on the plane which is another two hours late this morning so I got time to write on my phone to give you this latest chapter. Again, please excuse phone typos.**

After they returned to the forest, this time Wickham's eyes alighted on curious little plants clinging to trees that Rebecca identified as orchids. He walked around, examining them up close and marveled at them. He rightly knew his time with Rebecca would be coming to an end with her final vision and was frightened as to what would occur when he was placed in a demon's hands.

"Tell me," he said, "what will happen after my final vision with you."

"I do not know what the demon Muck has planned for you," Rebecca admitted. "However, after he is finished with you, you will have a decision to make."

"Is he truly terrible?" Wickham asked with a little shiver. Rebecca frightened him a bit just because she was not of this world but not because of how she treated him. She never forced anything upon him, only suggested. Wickham rightly believed she always had his best interests in mind, or at least what she believed was best for him. A demon on the other hand, Wickham was scared, wished only for his downfall, to usher him to the abyss and eternal torment.

"You already know him and his like" she replied. "Although those of his ilk have been forever whispering in your ear, his particular whispers to you began with the present challenge between God and Satan. He provides thoughts that may appear as your own but you can tell the difference. While you are generally eager to follow his suggestions and may believe they are your own, you know the difference between wrong and right. He will seek to trap you in a gilded cage made from whatever will tempt you most."

She gave a little sigh and then paused in saying anything. Wickham had seen her do this several times before and wondered, _What can she be doing during these pauses?_

Rebecca then continued, "Try to remember that the life of one who follows Christ is not easy, but it refines one. In contrast, the life the damned choose may have many temporal rewards but in the end what is left no longer bears a resemblance to the image of God. For them being with God in heaven would be a torment. The Devil is the master of lies and will tempt you where you are weakest, has used his minions to exploit the hurt you felt over Darcy's betrayal, to tell you that you deserved more, gave you enjoyment in your sins. Like a child eating too many sweets the consequences will be felt later."

"Is he here now?" Wickham asked, looking around himself.

"He is with your body in your room," Rebecca explained, "but he does not show himself here. He prefers to remain hidden so that you may not notice him."

She paused again and when her eyes met his Wickham asked, "What were you doing just then and at other times?"

"I was praying to God, asking that the Holy Spirit might supply my words and show me how to reach you. I have caught glimpses of the man you could become if redeemed by God. You have been making efforts but remember that your own efforts will never be enough. You must trust in Him who created all that you see before you. He has the strength you lack. When you need wisdom, when you doubt, when you require help in making a decision, seek Him through prayer and the reading of his word. Consult with those that you know follow him. When you do so, Muck's lies will become apparent."

"And what of you?" Wickham asked. "Will you still be here to help me when it is the demon's turn?"

"I, myself, am nothing apart from from the one that sent me," Rebecca commented. "I shall be with you during this trial, but following the last vision from me I will not be talking to you like this, but I shall do my best to strengthen you and nudge you in the direction that He would have you go. When Demon Muck is finished showing you whatever he will, and it is time for you to make your final decision and have your wish granted, I (along with Muck) shall be visible once more."

"I thank you for all you have done and tried to do for me," Wickham told her, sincere in these words. "I suppose that I am ready to see your last vision." _I hope_ , he added to himself.

"Remember," Rebecca cautioned, "what I am about to show you is what will happen if you do not change and turn to him. I doubt it shall be pleasant. I show show you various scenes of things occuring within a short period of one another."

The mist came and as it cleared Wickham noticed three army men talking amongst themselves. There uniforms were of a different style than he was familiar with and he supposed it must be some years in the future. Wickham and Rebecca watched them converse.

"He died yesterday," the first man commented. He looked quite old to Wickham. The man, whose insignia indicated he was a Colonel, was balding. He had the craggy face of a man who was nearing the end of his military career. There was something familiar about him.

"Good riddance," said the second. He was younger and a captain. "A more worthless fellow would be difficult to imagine. Was he always so bad?" He asked the Colonel.

"There was a time when he seemed to be trying," the Colonel responded. "His wife's relatives certainly laid out enough money for him to rise far further than a man of his kind should. I suppose they thought it would help him to be a better provider for his wife and children."

Wickham had a sinking feeling that he was the man who had died. He believed the first man was someone he had served with.

"I do not suppose his widow loses much by having him gone," the Colonel added.

"No," said the third, the youngest one, a mere ensign. "Nothing but his salary but he likely spent any increases solely on himself. I hear he died owing substantial debts and I imagine his widow will disclaim any knowledge of them and depart from here before he is even in the ground."

"She was quite pretty at one time," the Colonel recalled. "She was a flirt and I felt his fists once when I went too far with her. Of course I had no idea of her being married you understand," he told the others.

Now Wickham knew who the Colonel was.

"Her beauty has long since faded," he added. "Nothing saps a woman's beauty so quickly as years of disappointment and bitterness, frequent cuffings and too many crying children with empty bellies."

The mist came and faded away to reveal

two men arguing over some shoddy possessions as some small scrawny children looked on, wide-eyed at the scene unfolding before them. He noticed that one of the children had a recent bruise on her face.

"His debt to me is older," the first man insisted, tugging at a leg of a chair. He was grimmy and seemed to be a drunkard.

"He owes me more!" The second man insisted, tugging at the chair's arm. If possible he looked even more disreputable than the first. He looked like someone fond of laudnum looking for any means to buy some more.

With a crack the arm broke off the chair. "Just look what you did!" The first man exclaimed.

"It is your fault," the second one argued. It looked to Wickham as if they might come to blows.

"They broke Papa's chair," the youngest child exclaimed.

"Papa's dead Timmy, he ain't need of it no more. It won't fit in the carriage our uncle will send anyway."

The girl who was speaking then turned to the men, "I heard tell that our Papa hid some coins under the floor boards in his chambers," she told them and they both dashed through an open door.

"Hurry," she told the younger children, "we need to find Mama and get away from here."

"Did Papa really have coins there?" Timmy asked.

"Yes but they are long gone. We must get gone for they shall be angry." They dashed out the little house and down a dusty road" the girl carring a toddler. She reminded Wickham of his sister Elizabeth.


	31. Chapter 30

**The second chapter of today.**

Are those my children?" Wickham asked Rebecca. "They must be," he answered himself. "I saw shades of Elizabeth in the oldest girl and I think the boys were rather like me."

Wickham was lost in thought. Those children looked ill fed and he recalled the knawing feeling of hunger pains he had experienced often as a child. He remembered thinking when young that he would never act toward his own children as his mother acted toward him, valuing her own comforts and desires more than his. And yet, it appeared that was just what he had done. Worse yet, he had done that to five children and then left them without a father. He wondered, _Is Lydia a good mother? Perhaps if she is they are better off without me._ The mist came and cleared to reveal two grave diggers. They finished digging a grave and then walked toward a cart bearing a sheet wrapped corpse.

"No coffin, father?" The younger one asked.

Wickham's first impression was that the smaller, younger man was simple. He had the same look about his eyes and a similar protruding tongue as another of that sort that lived in one of the tenant's houses at Pemberley.

Wickham recalled that Darcy's father had given John a job in the stables. John required much supervision and reminders on performing all but the most routine of tasks, but was a happy fellow. He loved talking to and about the pretty, pretty horses and one of his jobs was to bring them their feed and he was always so delighted when they poked their heads out knowing that when John came it meant they would eat.

John had died while no more than forty and he and Fitzwilliam had attended the funeral which Mr. Darcy had paid for. Wickham remembered that John's father had thanked Mr. Darcy again and again for all he had done for John.

"He brought happiness to many," was Mr. Darcy's reply. "He had a good heart and faithfully served to the best of his abilities. He shall be missed."

A few months later a portrait of John appeared in the stable that Mrs. Darcy had painted. While the likeness was rough, it was not uncommon to find the stable hands and others who knew John standing in front of the portrait and sharing stories about him with one another. Wickham remembered one saying that the horses missed John when he died and were off their feed for days. Another swore that Misty, a skittish mare that shied away from most, kept sticking her out out of her stall and looking around for John.

Wickham heard a thump as the dead man was dropped into the ground. The older man was explaining to the younger why there was no coffin.

"The army paid to bury him as his wife could not afford to, but they only paid for the hole to be dug and filled. No one asked for a service or a marker. His body is simply being put into the ground. It is a sad matter."

"Should we pray over him?" The younger man asked.

"That is a good thought, Dick," the older man replied. "It is too late to do this man any good, but as man is made in God's image he deserves better than this. Do you remember the Lord's prayer?"

Dick nodded and they recited it together, Dick stumbling over and forgetting some of the words.

They stood silently looking over the body before the older man gestured towards the shovels. Dick flung a shovel full of dirt on the corpse but then his father said, "Wait Dick. I almost forgot. We are to return the sheet."

The father knelt down and reached into the fairly shallow open grave. He tugged hard at the sheet on the close side of the grave and managed to pull up one side. Dick joined him and as they tugged the corpse rolled, eventually freeing the corpse from its shroud.

Wickham and Rebecca watched it all, standing at the far side of the grave from the grave diggers. As the sheet was pulled away, Wickham watched as his own naked and bloated body was revealed.

The dead Wickham had a slit throat and his eyes were half open. It appeared that he had been dead for a few days.

As Wickham gagged and felt himself sway the mist came again, clearing to reveal a carriage pulling up to Pemberley.

A well dressed older couple was awaiting its arrival. Wickham recognized Darcy and Elizabeth as the older couple. Darcy looked very like his father and Elizabeth was still beautiful and very like her mother. As soon as the carriage stopped, Darcy was waiting to open the door and help its occupants out.

"Mrs. Wickham," he acknowledged, offering his hand.

Although Wickham recognized that the woman who stepped out was indeed his bride, the contrast between her and her elder sister was striking. Lydia looked many years the elder and had an anxious eyes that darted everywhere. She was gaunt and pinched looking. Her dress was made of cheap cloth that showed signs of many repairs and much wear. He noticed that what was upon her feet only vaguely resembled shoes. Wickham looked toward the "shoes" and realized she was not wearing shoes at all; he was seeing her dirty and well worn feet. When Lydia greeted her sister and brother and Wickham noticed with a start that Lydia was missing some teeth in the front.

"What happened to her teeth?" Wickham asked.

"You came home drunk, accused her of cheating on you and hit her in the mouth," Rebecca answered calmly. "Her teeth were already loose from poor nourishment and it did not take much to break them out entirely. Lydia always makes sure the little ones are fed before eating herself.

Five children filed out behind her, two of them cowering behind their mother's flimsy skirts. Only the eldest was bold enough to approach Mrs. Darcy while Lydia listened to Darcy's welcome.

"Are you my aunt?" She asked, eyeing Elizabeth carefully.

"Yes indeed. Welcome to Pemberley, Catherine. Chambers are ready for your brothers and sister in the nursery. Your cousins shall be glad for the company. However, I believe you are too old to be there. Therefore, we have prepared you a room between your mother's room and that of my eldest daughter's room. I shall have baths prepared for you all so you may freshen up and change for dinner. You may eat with us or join your siblings and younger cousins in the nursery if you prefer."

"I do not have another dress," Catherine offered. "None of us do, not even my mother."

"No matter," Elizabeth responded, "I'm sure we can find suitable clothes for you until new ones can be made up."

"New ones!" Her lip trembled a bit and she began to cry. "I have never had a new dress in all my life. The dress I am wearing now passed through both my elders sisters before they died of that fever and before them it belonged to my mother."

"I had seven children!" Wickham exclaimed.

"Ten in all from Lydia," Rebecca told him, "and two from other women. Although fevers may take healthy children, too, those who are without sufficient food normally are more likely to perish. Three died from fevers, one died while yet an infant when Lydia could not make enough milk for her, and your eldest daughter is a prostitute in London."

"What a wicked man I became," Wickham commented. "I do not want things to end up this way, my children and wife living upon Darcy's charity, others perished and one lost forever. Still, he must be a good man now, to take them all in."


	32. Chapter 31

**Reviewers, I am sorry I have done a lousy job of keeping up with thanking everyone and answering questions. I really appreciate all your reviews which keep me motivated and engaged. Shout outs to: marieantoinette1, nanciellen, liysyl, mpal, Haruko Higurashi, happywife, Daisydawn82, Gedoena, Pemsnowy, Shelby66, atidsoptimist and assorted guests (some of which I know are Pemsnowy).**

 **Guest, we are getting to the Its a Wonderful Life portion of the story, but instead of Wickham never having existed, we will see the demon's proposal for the wish he wants Wickham to make, which involves the "what if" of Wickham doing one thing differently in his life. Can you guess what it is?** **I plan on the vision of this occurring in the chapter after this one.**

"Darcy is generous. He would do anything to please his wife and take care of family," Rebecca responded, "but they are dependent on his charity because of your failures. He has repaid all the punishment you inflicted upon him, his sister, and his wife's sister with kindness toward those who are yours."

The mist shifted to two young women standing beside a graveside who appeared to be old enough to be out. Wickham recognized one of them as an older version of the girl he had learned in the previous scene was his daughter Catherine. There was another young woman beside her that Wickham thought might be her sister or her cousin.

Catherine said to the other woman, "It is strange, I never mourned for my own father. It was rather a relief when he was gone. When I was but a girl I was always fearful of his return. At times he was kind, but usually he was angry about everything, would strike us, go searching for any money my mother managed to save by mending and sewing for the other wives. I was scared of what his creditors would do to us when they learned he had died and found he had nothing much that they could claim toward his debts. I was never so glad as when my mother said we were saved and told us to get ourselves into the carriage that arrived for us in answer to her express. Its opulence scared me, it felt as if there was a mistake and when we arrived Pemberley was like nothing I could have imagined."

The other young woman gave a wan smile. Wickham noticed that both women had red, watery eyes, as if they had been crying. He could hear emotion in his daughter's voice. He wondered if the grave was Lydia's.

The other woman responded, "Given the many times you have described your early life helped me to never take my father or the advantages I gained here for granted. What if Uncle Wickham had married my mother instead of yours? My life could have been yours. I was blessed indeed to have the father I did. I do not understand how Uncle Wickham, given the advantages my father has described, could have fallen so far. I remember when you first arrived with your family how scared you were of my father."

"Yes," Catherine agreed, "I remember. It was not because of anything he did, but because I thought all fathers were like mine. And yet while he was quite reserved he was also so patient and gentle I could not help but to grow to love Uncle Darcy dearly. He was more of a father to me than my own ever was. It is so hard that he is gone. When I think I am all cried out it seems that new tears are just waiting for a reminder to burst free. When I accepted Edward's proposal, as happy as I was, that night in my room I cried when I thought about my wedding day. I always imagined and hoped Uncle would walk me down the aisle for my wedding."

"He would have and you know he would have approved." The women hugged.

"Thank you for coming with me today, Jane. It seemed only right to tell Uncle about my upcoming wedding. If Uncle Darcy is like a father to me, you are as dear to me as my own brothers and sisters."

The mist came and Wickham found himself back in his bed, Lydia snoring lightly beside him. In the dim light he looked at her and was reassured that she was still young, her face unmarred. He vowed to himself, _I will change, I must!_

"I hope you will change, Wickham." Rebecca said.

Wickham glanced at the side of the bed and saw her slightly glowing form, her true form, the one that was not like Jane, but was long, thin, and only vaguely human-like. To the left of her, the darkness somehow seemed darker. He wondered if she was responding to his unvoiced thought or making her own statement unconnected with it. He heard a note of uncertainty in her voice.

"I will change, Rebecca, I know that I need to. I want to be the sort of husband that Lydia, or really any woman deserves, to be a father far better than my mother was a mother, to protect and support those that are mine. Let Darcy be responsible for those that are his. I want Catherine's adoration for myself."

"Remember," Rebecca told him, no movement on her face, her speech communicated directly to him through her hand upon his forehead, "you cannot will yourself to be better, your bad patterns and ways of thinking and acting are deeply ingrained. Denying your desires is a heavy burden to try to bear by yourself. You will quickly grow tired. To truly change you must call on Him and let Him bear your burdens for you, let him change your desires."

Wickham nodded, though he truly did not understand.

He felt her hand upon his forehead stroke it lightly, as a mother might stroke her child's head. "My time actively interacting with you is now at an end, but I will be praying for you and seeking to strengthen you the best I can while it is Muck's turn."

"I will change!" Wickham insisted, feeling anxiousness and doubt he could really do it, as he watched her fade away and felt her touch dissipate. He did not want to submit to anyone, he still wanted make his own decisions.

Then a little voice in his head said, "Must you? What if just a small change from your past could change your life for the better?"

He wondered, was that Muck whispering in his ear? The darkness that had been beside Rebecca now seemed darker in her absence. He felt there was someone or something there but when nothing happened, eventually he closed his eyes.

When Wickham closed his eyes, he realized he was in another vision. He was standing in a room with two enormous and plush armchairs set before an orange crackling fire with a thick log that reminded him of a yule log that would easily last until morning. There was a fine round mahogany side table between the two chairs with a large lit oil lamp upon it.

In the far chair sat a man Wickham would have described as jolly. The man was a bit fat; he had a slightly ruddy face and seemed the sort who was a bit too fond of food and drink, but would also freely share what he had with company. His hair was carefully styled and his clothes were very fine. His green waistcoat was embroidered with golden leaves and red berries. He had a wide grin which showed good teeth. There was something that Wickham did not like in his eyes, but he soon forgot that as the man stood up and shook his hand.

"Phineas Muckingham at your service," the man introduced himself. His voice a bit deep but melodious. He was very pleasant to listen to. Wickham could imagine the man being requested to read aloud to others.

Mr. Muckingham offered Wickham his hand. Wickham took the man's hand in his own without any thought as shaking a hand when offered was a well ingrained habit.

"And you are Mr. George Wickham." Mr. Muckingham gave a slight nod and then sat down again, gesturing that Wickham should sit down in the other chair in front of the fire.

When Wickham sat, Mr. Muckingham gestured to a previously unseen servant who silently brought a decanter and poured two glasses of brandy and brought some little cakes, and then exited somewhere just as quietly, though Wickham did not see or hear a door. Wickham's hand itched to pick up the drink. If his initial impression of Mr. Muckingham was correct, he expected that the brandy would be of the finest available, likely the kind he enjoyed the most but could never afford. The cakes looked like ones he remembered liking best as a child. However, he hesitated. He had a vague recollection of a story from mythology that stated that the penalty from eating food in the underworld was having to stay there forever.

Mr. Muckingham laughed, "You are not Persephone, I am not Hades, I am not offering you pomegranate seeds and this is not the underworld but a vision. Nothing you eat here is real, but you can enjoy the tastes, touches, sensations and smells of everything here."

He snapped his fingers and a woman clothed in nothing but a short, translucent garment appeared. Wickham stared at the woman and her luscious form, which matched his taste rather exactly, while Mr. Muckingham continued speaking.

"Miriam is here for your pleasure and will do anything you desire. You would not be cheating on your wife as nothing is occurring except in your mind, but she will feel real indeed if you take your pleasure with her. Everything here is the best you can imagine. Why would one want to sing praises to God rather than indulging in all the joys of the body? All these things are available in hell. It is not the place the followers of God has made it out to be."

With effort, Wickham pulled his eyes from perusing Miriam's assets and looked back at Mr. Muckingham. "Who is she?"

"Why a damned soul. In life she was not nearly so beautiful but has excellent technique. I know all your desires and have instructed her on how best to serve you. I am in no hurry and there is a room back there," he gestured vaguely and now Wickham could see an open door and a bed beyond it. He did not think the door or room was there previously.

"Or if you prefer, here is a game of cards." A door that Wickham did not see earlier swung open, revealing a gaming table and people sitting around it. Mr. Muckingham threw a heavy purse at Wickham, who reflexively caught it. "While you will not be able to keep your winnings once you leave here, there is no reason that you cannot enjoy the excitement of the game. You can cheat as much as you want here and no one will think the worse of you."

"You are trying to distract and corrupt me." Wickham announced.

"No, I am trying to help you understand that you can be just who want to be. You are the captain of your own destiny and I am trying to help you see all the options open to you. I have known of you for a long time, Wickham, and have watched all that Rebecca showed you. I know she sought to reform you, but I tell you that there is nothing wrong with the man you are. You simply are the product of your circumstances which resulted from making one small mistake. The moral standards in your world are arbitrary. There is no right and no wrong, the only master you must serve is yourself. The only standard should be to take whatever you can from the world that will make you happy. I will show you how could can fulfill every desire and live the way you deserve, all it takes is making one small change to your past. Your life will improve beyond your wildest dreams if you make the right wish."

"What is this change you speak of?" Wickham inquired, intrigued.

"Ah, a man who likes to get right to business," Mr. Muckinham nodded approvingly. "I will be happy to show you."


	33. Chapter 32

**Here is your Christmas chapter. It is rather dark at this point, for everyone but Wickham. Sorry!  
**

Mr. Muckingham snapped his fingers, everything became dark and then light while Wickham simultaneously had the sensations of falling and jumping, being pulled and shoved, feeling hot and cold and off balance. He felt as if he might become sick and swayed while trying to stay on his feet. The sensations gradually abated and he straightened himself up, finally able to look around.

Wickham knew where and when he was, it was the same scene from his past that Rebecca had shown him in his first vision. Fitzwilliam was removing his clothes in preparation for following his boat into the pond.

"Just one little change," Mr. Muckingham said, "could make all the difference in your life."

"So this is a 'what could have been'," Wickham asked, wanting to be sure.

"Yes," Mr. Muckingham said, "but it is also a 'what can be' if you make the right wish." There was something in the quality of his smile that Wickham did not like.

Wickham watched the scene unfold just as it had before, with one difference. Whereas before the boy that he had been had struck off from the branch when it got too deep to reach the bottom and swam toward Fitzwilliam, not knowing whether he could save him or not, but trying his best, in this version his younger self called out, "Fitzwilliam, swim to me."

His younger self looked on in disbelief as Fitzwilliam panicked and struggled.

His younger self kept hold of the tree limb, calling out repeatedly, "Help, help, he is drowning." However no one came.

Wickham and Mr. Muckingham watched from the shore as Fitzwilliam finally sank beneath the waters of the pond. Wickham felt a bit of exaltation; he was correct, Fitzwilliam would have drowned if not for his intervention. He also felt a sadness, for he could not help but remember his childhood friendship with him. He also felt guilt. Though he had long hated Darcy, his hate had abated somewhat when he saw the dressing down Darcy received from Elizabeth, and also with seeing him finally forced to acknowledge his wrong to Mr. Bingley. He also had seen what Darcy would do in the future if the worst came to pass to look after his own family when Wickham was gone. It seemed wrong somehow that he had died.

The boy Wickham was crying as he clung to the limb, but finally the cold was apparently too much for him, as he began to swim back towards the edge of the pond, still clinging to the limb, until when he straightened his body his feet could feel the bottom and he was able to walk to the shore.

Much as Darcy had run for help in the vision of the past that Rebecca showed him, the boy Wickham ran for help to the stable. Almost everything played out as before, though the men from the stable looked dumbfounded when they saw the still water with no sign of Fitzwilliam.

There was a jolting shift again and Wickham felt as if he might vomit. He wondered, briefly, _Do the changing scenes make me feel sick because Mr. Muckingham does not care to make them easier for me as perhaps Rebecca sought to do, or is this wrenching feeling because this alternative past is wrong._ However, the scene which he saw before him completely took over his attention before he could contemplate the matter further. Mr. Darcy was visiting his younger self in a guest room at Pemberley. They were discussed how Wickham had tried to save his friend.

"I told Fitzwilliam not to go in the pond but he would not listen to me. I thought he would turn back when it got too deep for him to stand but he did not. When he started to struggle I followed him in with that branch, hoping I could save him, but it was too deep and too cold. I wanted to swim to him, but I was scared I would drown, too. I am so sorry, I tried and it just was not enough."

His younger self began to cry and then to cough. Wickham could see that his younger self believed every word he spoke, was genuinely sorry. A thought flashed through Wickham's head, _He is more cowardly than I was, or loved Fitzwilliam less than I did._

"George," Mr. Darcy said, "You were right not to risk yourself. Then we might be mourning two dead boys instead of one. Fitzwilliam knew the rules, knew better, but he had a stubborn streak . . ." Mr. Darcy's voice caught, and he could not continue.

In watching Mr. Darcy's grief, Wickham felt genuinely sorry for him. Perhaps only somewhat sorry that Fitzwilliam was gone, but truly sorry for the grief Mr. Darcy had to bear. Wickham had always been fond for the man who was his faithful advocate, who gave him opportunities his station in life did not entitle him to, which his mother's spendthrift habits would have otherwise fully denied to him.

Mr. Darcy slowly mastered himself before any tears could fall and caught George up in an embrace. He whispered softly, "I thank God that it was not the both of you. You are beloved to me and I am glad your father was spared my grief though I know, he too, mourns my lost son."

The wrenching feeling, tilting and overturning with flashes of light ushered in a scene of an older George dancing with a young Georgiana at a small gathering as Mr. Darcy and another man, who Wickham recognized as being the Earl and Georgiana's uncle, looked on. Wickham noticed that his younger self, who was perhaps university age, was dressed in clothes that must have been made up specifically for him on Mr. Darcy's orders as everything was of a fine quality and cut. He thought that he looked every bit the Darcy heir.

The Earl asked Mr. Darcy, "Is it really wise to let your daughter who is still a child and will not be out for a few years dance with your steward's son?"

Mr. Darcy replied evenly, "At a family gathering such as this one, I see no harm in it. George is far more than just my steward's son, he is my godson and almost a son to me. He has known Georgiana all of her life and they are quite fond of each other. I would not object if when she is of age they married. His father is a fine man and George is just the same."

"Would you really entertain an offer from him? Why Georgiana could be matched with nobility! As your sole heir her value would be quite high when she comes out. Why I expect she would receive several offers her first season."

"That is the exact reason why I would entertain an offer from George," Mr. Darcy answered, frowning a bit. "He cares for Georgiana herself, not what she could gain him. Others who may seek her out later may pretend at caring for her when all they want is her connections and estate. I would not have Georgiana valued for material connections, rather than for her own sweet nature. Another might conceal his true finances and then later drain Pemberley to shore up his own estate or heaven forbid sell Pemberley off or neglect it. No, if they married Pemberley would be well protected and Georgiana herself could continue to enjoy the life she should have here. I have already put a provision in my will granting them my permission to marry if George should seek her hand and Georgiana should accept. The only condition is that he should take on the Darcy name."


	34. Chapter 33

**So I decided to re-edit this chapter to simply shorten and bland it out, but in the process I am quite pleased with where it ended up going, so in the end all the criticism I think has been quite beneficial to the overall story.  
**

While Rebecca in roughly modeling the approach she would take after a famous novel was correct that Satan did not provide his demons with books for entertainment, she was wrong to think that his demons had no knowledge of the things to come. While Satan did not wholly exist beyond space and time as God did, he did have access to knowledge and technology beyond the current present. While Satan and his demons did not particularly like books (reading was too much work and his demons like he did preferred to always do what was easiest rather than what was best), he was fond of movies and television and could easily share them with his demons through visions he fed to a couple of his demons who were very slothful and served as something like DVD players, sharing visions of movies he placed into them with other demons and doing little else. As a result, Satan was able to let his favored ones "watch" movies through shared visions. The more his demons had proven themselves, the more depraved of movies he let them watch, with plenty of sex and gore.

Satan found that many plots of future movies had an efficacy in offering his demons new ideas of what men's secret desires might be and the lies they would be most likely to believe. When Satan was in a perverse mood he enjoyed showing his demons romantic comedies. He would then quiz them on what they showed about mankind that could be exploited. While Satan adored the current era that his demons were working in as the Prince Regent's depravity spilled out into the larger society, he knew that in each era, evil men and women could find ways to justify their actions to themselves. Mankind in all its essentials did not change.

When Satan wanted to punish his demons, he made them watch sappy movies and write essays about how they would alter the movies to reflect a more evil viewpoint. He was known to on occasion require a script of how such a movie should be changed to employ in later eras, and even a complete vision to be crafted so that his demons could "watch" the new movie. His demons' efforts largely resulted in porno scripts spoofing more wholesome movies which Satan knew he could later arrange for human filmmakers to make.

Although his demons were not the most creative bunch, a couple of them had written scripts that he truly enjoyed. One wrote a version of classic forty minute Boris Karloff-narrated _How The Grinch Stole Christmas_ , which Satan enjoyed so much that he deemed it worthy of the time it took the writer to craft a complete cartoon vision of it to share with the other demons. In that version when the Grinch heard the Whos begin to sing, rather than having his heart grow three sizes and return all their gifts and decorations, he massacred and ate them all on a bonfire made of their stolen gifts.

As much as Satan enjoyed this alternative depiction, which had his minions cheering with delight, this particular script seemed likely to only be produced in later years on the internet as a parody. Satan needed something more practical and realistic to seal the corruption of a particular man that he had his eye on, and to serve his larger purposes.

Fortunately for Satan, one of his oldest and most devious demons, Muck, was able to craft a lovely and most impressive lie in the form of a detailed script about another well known holiday movie called Elf (Satan universally called them holiday movies, he would not say the name of his enemy if he could help it). In this version, Santa enslaved the elves who were forced to work long hours hopped up on sugar laced with mind altering drugs.

Satan remembered Muck's skill when he challenged God to another battle over the soul of a man. Unlike Rebecca who had to decide on the model she would follow herself as aided by divine inspiration, Satan directed Muck on just how he could best employ the germ of the script he had come up with, that by letting another man drown Wickham's life could be vastly improved.

In not having faith in Muck to craft the story himself and micromanaging overly much, the resulting script was not as convincing as Muck could have made it and Muck believed rather heavy handed. Muck thought that Satan should have let him revise in light of how Rebecca had begun to change Wickham, but Satan was convinced that the original script was best. Muck knew better than to ever challenge Satan on anything and incur his wrath and punishment. Like all demons, Muck was a "yes man" when it came to his dealings with Satan.

Satan inspiration for Wickham's "do over" came from two sources from the future. Satan remembered that in the movie _Its a Wonderful Life_ , the protagonist George Bailey when shown the effects of a wish of having wished to have never been born found that one of the effects was that his brother Harry would have died of drowning if George did not save him and then many others would die in the war when Harry was not there to help them.

Satan was also inspired by the urban legend about the song "In the Air Tonight." Oddly enough he had started the urban legend about is himself, he was the master of lies after all. That song contains lyrics about someone who could have saved another from drowning but didn't lend a hand, which was interpreted as Phil Collins actually witnessing such an incident rather than the lines being metaphorical, as referenced in the Eminem lyric of "Stan."

In picking Wickham to be the man whose soul he and God battled over, Satan was familiar with how a good act (saving Darcy) could be turned into the catalyst for making Wickham evil. It had been Satan who came up with the plan of having one of his minions influence Darcy to be stubborn and stupid in the first place in blaming his boat going into the pond on Wickham, ordering Wickham to get it and then going after it himself. Why it was Muck himself that was whispering in Darcy's ear about how he should lie to keep from getting the blame for breaking the rule about swimming. It was Muck that exploited Darcy's pride to get him to believe lies about Wickham's true condition later. It was Muck that influenced Darcy to hate his friend rather than humble himself in accepting the foolishness of his own actions and repenting from placing his friend in a position where he was sickened in trying to save him. It was Muck that had the inspiration that Darcy should burn the boats.

Of course Darcy could have chosen differently, but Muck knew well how he could best exploit the weaknesses in Darcy's character. And Darcy had been all too willing to go where Muck led him.

The script that Satan and Muck used to craft the visions Wickham was shown was designed to play upon Wickham's envy and pride, fulfilling all that Wickham believed he deserved. Muck, or Mr. Muckingham as he was currently calling himself, was a practiced deceiver. Everything that he had told or shown Wickham thus far was either a complete fabrication or only a half truth. Yet Muck, through his invasion into the Swiss cheese of Wickham's soul, could tell that Wickham actually believed the lie was the future that could have awaited him if he had only let Darcy drown. Satan and Muck were counting on Wickham desiring the lie so intensely that he would freely choose evil and become lost forever.

Satan knew that it was unlikely that if Darcy drowned Wickham could actually end up as Georgiana's husband and the master of Pemberley. What he did know was that if Fitzwilliam Darcy was eliminated, much evil would result. Even if Wickham partially reformed and did not completely drain Pemberley dry, much good that both Darcy and Darcy's father had done in their lives would be wiped out.

Satan foresaw that instead of treating Wickham as his own son, Mr. Darcy the elder would secretly hate him believing that just perhaps Wickham could have saved his son. Mr. Darcy would be quick to judge Wickham on every ill report he heard of him and quickly determine that his assistance to Wickham should dwindle. Mr. Darcy would also turn to drink to avoid thinking about the death of his beloved Fitzwilliam and it was likely his attentions to his wife Anne would diminish so greatly that Georgiana would never be conceived or born.

While Anne might live quite a bit longer if Georgiana was never born, it was likely that though she was the younger that Mr. Darcy would still outlive her as she had a much more frail constitution than his own (similar to that of her namesake, but not to such a degree). Depending upon when Anne's death occurred, and how Satan could use his demons to exploit Mr. Darcy's grieving state afterwards, it was possible that Mr. Darcy would act on suggestions to to take his own life. Under the terms of Mr. Darcy's will, if he passed away without a heir of his body, Pemberley would be inherited by his oldest living relative, who at the time was a Reginald Darcy who was worse than Wickham in many ways and would see Pemberley's female staff as his to use in any way he might wish. Reginald would treat Pemberley as a playground and its income as his personal piggy bank. Many would suffer if he inherited.

Much evil could result from Fitzwilliam Darcy dying young besides just the effect it would have on his father. At school, Darcy had saved a young Charles Bingley from bullying and done many other small good deeds whose effects rippled out in a wave of good. Without Darcy's support both at school and later, Charles Bingley would never have the confidence to try managing an estate and would never meet Jane Bennet. When left under only his sisters' influence, he would marry a woman of an impeccable background who would treat him horribly and cuckold him.

Because Bingley was not there to raise Mrs. Bennet's expectations that Jane would soon have an offer, Mrs. Bennet would encourage Mr. Collins to court and marry Jane. Jane, having not Elizabeth's strength and fortitude, and believing that it was her duty to serve those that she loved, would willingly sacrifice herself for her mother and sisters by marrying Mr. Collins. The rest of the Bennet sisters would make more or less respectable marriages, but none but one would ever come to love their husbands. Their existences would be acceptable but they would have not the joy they could have had.

All this and more, Satan believed was possible if Wickham could be made to choose the wish Muck presented to him. So for Satan the contest was less about winning Wickham's soul and more about causing great evil in the world.


	35. Chapter 34

**I have listened to all critiques of the previous chapter. It is a pity to me that it is easier to get reviews on a chapter that people don't like than one that they do. I agree that tone and content-wise the previous chapter isn't the best fit for this story, but this is a WIP which means that I am trying things out. If and when I revise, who knows what if anything will survive from it, but I have no intention of revising or eliminating it now, which would get in the way of getting the rest of this story out. I am all for constructive criticism and try my best not to have a thin skin. I have yet to delete a single review for any reason.  
**

 **I've written most of the rest of this story just in the past 24 hours, including the end, but need to write the chapter that goes right after this one. I expect this story to be complete in a day or two.**

Everything shifted suddenly again and Wickham wondered how much more of feeling like he was in a carriage tumbling down an incline he could take. Now he watched on with Mr. Muckingford as he married Georgiana. She was lovely and he looked handsome in the finest clothes he had ever worn in all his life. The familiar vows concluded with a tentative kiss.

Wickham could not but compare how different this wedding and small gesture of affection was to what he had shared with Lydia. He had a sudden longing to have Lydia rather than Georgiana at his other self's side.

Wickham watched on as they rode together in a fine carriage with perfectly matched horses and enjoyed their wedding breakfast at Pemberley. It was everything sumptuous and all who were in attendance showed that Wickham great deference and referred to him as Mr. Darcy. That was a bit strange but it was nice that he bore the name of the man who had loved him like a son.

While Colonel Fitzwilliam, his parents and elder brother did not seem thrilled, they said all that was proper. It was evident that his double was now the master of everything he surveyed.

Wickham watched on as the other Wickham and Georgiana separated in preparation for retiring for the night, with that Wickham or rather the Darcy who was him, telling Georgiana, "I will see you at half past the hour."

Georgiana blushed and nodded, hurrying into the mistress's chambers.

Mr. Muckingham, who Wickham had almost forgotten as he watched everything that occurred with fascination, touched his shoulder to get his attention and said, "If you wish, you can take your own place and enjoy deflowering her for yourself. Such a lucious yet willowy creature, fit for nobility and yet all yours. And if she disappoints, your mistress (a luscious redhead rather like Miss Stapleton who you so admired when she became Georgiana's governess) has a warm bed waiting for you in Lambton."

Wickham's stomach rolled, not from all the jarring shifts he had experienced, but from what Mr. Muckingford had said. He had no desire to bed Georgiana or watch on with Mr. Muckingford as his double did so. Instead of feeling the thrill that perhaps Mr. Muckingford felt he should, Wickham felt disgusted. Although he had considered cheating on Lydia, he had never done so and even though he knew mistresses were quite common among those that could afford them, it seemed wrong to have one waiting for his double who was about to consumate his marriage. _What am I doing here?_ He wondered.

Mr. Muckingford must have heard his thought as he quickly prevaricated, "Perhaps it is time to move on. Would you like to see the strapping lads you will father? All will have bright futures as little Darcy sons raised at Pemberley."

Wickham's lack of response must have been enough for Mr. Muckingford as things shifted abruptly once again. This time Wickham did get sick, at least in the vision. He rather thought it had less to do with the wrenching of the shift and more to do with the thoughts that were now swirling through his mind.

He tried to focus on the three handsome lads he saw, who must be his and Georgiana's and noted that his own older self looked a bit like what he remembered his own father looked like near the end of his life. Wickham had never thought much about how he might resemble his own father. He felt a sudden pang that the Wickhams, or at least his branch of the Wickhams (though he had never met another) was no more, now that his double was a George Darcy. And did that make him a George Darcy the second?

They were riding together at Pemberley on fine horses while he and Mr. Muckingham trailed behind on their own horses. His sons did seem to be handsome and healthy lads. Two (the eldest and youngest) were rather like himself and the middle lad who was fairer and almost as tall as the elder but with a rounder face betraying his youth, must take after Georgiana.

Wickham was pleased that one did not look like Fitzwilliam, which made sense as Georgiana and Fitzwilliam were not very like. Wickham remembered being a boy and riding in a similar manner with Mr. Darcy, his own father and Fitzwilliam. Wickham felt with that thought that he and his children were interlopers. It should be Darcy here with his sons, with maybe Georgiana and her husband visiting. Perhaps if he had taken the living, he might be an occasional visitor, but as an adult he had never expected to live there.

Too, a remembrance had flashed through his mind of his perhaps future daughter with Lydia, Catherine. He imagined he had daughters with Georgiana, but none of them would or could be Catherine with her resemblance to her aunt Elizabeth, as Georgiana was not Lydia. Wickham toyed with the idea that perhaps if he had such a life that he could entice Lydia (she must still exist), to be his mistress. There might be no Catherine, but there could still be a Lydia in his life.

Annoyingly enough, Mr. Muckingham again responded to his unspoken thought, "Would you like to meet your mistress? I think you will be pleasantly surprised."

Mr. Muckington did not wait for a response and, after settling a bit from the latest transition which left him yet again feeling sick, Wickham saw his double entering a neat little cottage on the outskirts of Lambton and being welcomed quite enthusiastically by Lydia, who demanded, boldly, "Finally ready for some proper loving? I've had nothing much to do but long for you."

She beckoned his double inside and Wickham and Mr. Muckingham followed. Wickham noted that this cottage was quite a bit finer than his present accommodations in Newcastle for the Lydia that was a wife. He wondered for a moment whether Lydia would be happier being a mistress to a rich man with no duties to mar her lovely hands than married to him as he presently was, having to learn the duties of being a soldier's wife.

Lydia boldly lifted her skirts and said, "Do you like what you see? It is all yours."

Mr. Muckingham suggested, "Go ahead and take his place," and suddenly Wickham was the man that this Lydia was embracing and doing her best to entice with her womanly attributes, which Wickham was pleased to note had only grown more curvaceous now that she was in her twenties. Wickham lost himself in this vision and in acting on his desires with the very willing and skilled woman before her. The little part of his head that was thinking rather than simply experiencing all that Lydia offered thought, _You can hardly be cheating on Lydia with herself_.

Yet when they were done and Wickham would have lingered in her bed and talked with her, Lydia said, "It is time for you to be off as your wife would not like it if you are not back to your estate for the night. Do not worry, I will be ready and waiting when you have need of me again."

Wickham left feeling a bit disappointed. He realized his Lydia had come to mean far more to him than what she had begun as, simply a willing and enthusiasic bed partner.

This time Mr. Muckingham ignored his thoughts and said brightly, "When you consider this matter fully, I am sure you will see the effects of such a wish are vastly superior to your current situation."

"I do not want to see any more." Wickham responded. "Let me return to my bed in Newcastle."

Another wrenching shift occurred and he was back in his bed, wide awake, with his eyes open in the dark. He felt discontented, and it was odd because the vision Mr. Muckingham had shown him ought to have satisfied his every desire. _Somehow it does not,_ Wickham thought to himself, _I suppose I have changed somehow._

He said to no one he could see, "Tell me how this wish business works."

He heard Rebecca's voice directly in his head, "Are you done seeing visions from Muck or only done for tonight?"

Another voice chimed in, it was Mr. Muckingham's, "I have much more to show you; many, many delights."

Wickham closed his eyes and saw both Rebecca and Mr. Muckingham in his own room as if they were before him and it was daytime.

Wickham was curious as to what Mr. Muckingham would show him, but he also felt a bit disquieted by what he had been shown thus far. Something was bothering him about the scenes Mr. Muckingham had shown him, something beyond the other things he had already considered, but he was not quite sure what it was.

"Done for good," Wickham heard himself say, "but I want some time to think before I make my wish, time without interference from anyone. Also, I need an explanation for how this wish business works."

"You can wish for anything you want," Mr. Muckingham's voice said.

"But you can only change the course of your own life, your own actions," Rebecca clarified. "You cannot control another person's actions as each person has free will."

"Yet, your actions will influence others. Your knowledge of them can help you direct their actions." Mr. Muckingham added. "And the money you will have as master of Pemberley can purchase you many, many things, fulfill all your desires."

"I can request that God place a hedge of protection around you which will keep both Muck and I, as well as any other angel or demon, or even God or Satan himself from influencing you. It will keep all from doing any more than speaking to you, will keep us from hearing any thoughts than the ones you direct specifically at us. I believe it was already arranged that such would be done when the visions were complete."

"Yes," Mr. Muckingham agreed, "but Wickham spent so much more time with you, Rebecca, that is hardly fair."

"It is Wickham's decision, not yours or mine," Rebecca said evenly.

"What do you want to do?" She asked Wickham.

"I want to be done with the visions and have a week to think, but to be able to talk to either of you if that is what I want."

Mr. Muckingham and Rebecca looked at each other and Wickham had the sense that they were communicating with both one another and their superiors during the interval of silence.

"It is done," Mr. Muckingham announced. "How about we meet tomorrow night to talk?"

Wickham crossed his arms. "I think not; I get to decide when or if we talk, do I not?"

"Yes," Mr. Muckingham agreed. Although his voice was pleasant, Wickham had the sense that he was annoyed.

"I will wait for you to call on me," Rebecca said.

"Good night then," Wickham said. He watched them both fade from his view.


	36. Chapter 35

**I posted Chapter 34 on Saturday night and as I am now posting on Sunday morning you should make sure you caught that one before you read this one. Also, I have changed Chapter 33 quite a bit and am pleased with the results, so check that out as well.  
**

Wickham did a lot of thinking. Fortunately, his duties on Saturdays were routine and allowed him the luxury of time for this endeavor. Within the first day of thinking, he had completed a mental list of various things about his interactions with Mr. Muckingham that bothered him. First, there was the fact that Mr. Muckingham had described the alternative Wickham who married Georgiana as having a mistress that resembled another woman with red hair that he could picture in his mind. Certainly a woman of such description, though he had never seen this mistress for himself, could not be Lydia. Did Mr. Muckingham simply substitute Lydia for this woman in the later vision? It seemed that things in the vision he depicted were not as set as Mr. Muckingham had implied.

Of course, as Wickham did consider, it might be that he had the one mistress at one time and by the time of the next vision he had gotten rid of that mistress and installed Lydia instead. Therefore, this was not necessarily an inconsistency, but it bothered Wickham nevertheless.

He was not convinced that Lydia would have agreed to leave her family to become the mistress of a rich man. Yes, she had left with him, but she had been young and impulsive and considered herself in love. Would an older Lydia that somehow met him, knowing he was already married and not a dashing soldier act in such a way? He doubted it.

Second, he thought about the explanation Rebecca had given that his wish could only change what happened to him and not what other people did, though Mr. Muckingham had insisted that good knowledge of others would allow him to control how they reacted through his own actions. But, as Wickham had learned from how Fitzwilliam reacted to being saved from drowning, people did not necessarily react in the ways one might anticipate. Still, perhaps the reactions of an eleven year-old might be more irrational and unpredictable than those of an adult.

Wickham wondered, _If Darcy did die, would his father truly embrace me as almost his own child?_ Mr. Muckingham's vision had made it seem a certainty, but it seemed it was far from that. What if instead Mr. Darcy could not bear to be around him, as even if Mr. Darcy did not blame him, he would be a reminder of all Mr. Darcy had lost.

Wickham searched his memory for how Mr. Darcy had reacted to the loss of Mrs. Darcy after the birth of Georgiana. He had seen Mr. Darcy far less at that time, being mostly away at school and not retrieved as Fitzwilliam had been when she was lost. It had not affected how Mr. Darcy treated him or Fitzwilliam, but he did recall that Mr. Darcy seemed more distant and less approachable. It was usually Fitzwilliam that seemed to spend time with Georgiana when they were both back from school, rather than Mr. Darcy, but how much was usual for any father who was busy running an estate to spend with his young daughter? Wickham did not know whether Mr. Darcy was unusually or typically involved with his daughter.

Third, Wickham was bothered that he had, if only in his thoughts as contained in Mr. Muckingham's vision, had sexual relations with an older Lydia. If these things had never taken place and perhaps never would, where exactly was he when he saw such things? Were the things that occurred solely part of Mr. Muckingham's imagination? Was the room with the roaring fire, the servant and the woman he was offered while there only figments of Mr. Muckingham's imagination, or were they lost souls somehow serving parts in a play in the vision?

When he was intimate with that Lydia, was he really being intimate with someone playing at being Lydia, a damned soul perhaps the very woman he had been offered earlier or (here a chill at the thought wracked his body) was he really being intimate with Mr. Muckingham's imagining of how such a Lydia would be, thus being intimate with Mr. Muckingham himself?

In Rebecca's visions, he could not interact with the past or present. He could feel a bit of those things but had no effect on them. How was it that he could affect things in Muck's visions? Wickham certainly did not understand all the rules, but he aimed to understand what he had been a part of better than he now did.

In thinking such thoughts his workday slipped away quickly and before he knew it, it was time to leave and retrieve Lydia from the Egerton's home where he had dropped her off in the morning with her book. Lydia was more cheerful than Wickham expected and carried a heavy basket that Wickham immediately took from her and bore on his own arm.

She gave him a bright smile that he could not help but return despite the troubled state of his mind. "I had a most pleasant time," she announced. "Though we worked hard for most of the day, we also talked much and took turns reading aloud as well. I had no idea of how little I knew of how things get done, of all that our servants at Longbourn did."

"What all did you do today?" Wickham asked, intrigued and pleasantly surprised that Lydia's good temper extended to working hard.

"Mrs. Egerton has two charming daughters who I helped with their sewing. They are working on making a quilt up over leftover scraps. I do not remember anyone in my family saving our scraps from the dresses we made up. I suppose our servants were perhaps given them and made such things themselves. It is a good idea to do this. They were even using a shirt of Mr. Egerton's which apparently no longer fits him and has seen better days. Mrs. Egerton said if they had a son they would have altered it for him, but as they have none they might as well have it for their quilt. Then when they were at their reading and writing lesson which they took with a neighbor lady who has daughters of a similar age, Mrs. Egerton and I worked on mending the troops uniforms."

"How was that?" Wickham asked.

"Oh, not very interesting and all that sewing made my fingers sore. I have never had to do ordinary mending unless I was in a hurry to have something fixed. Many of the men are unmarried and know nothing about fixing their clothing, though, so it is necessary work. Mrs. Egerton says that many would wear rags rather than ever think to hire someone to repair their clothing. It is our duty to make sure our company looks its best. Too, some of the pieces given to be mended are quite filthy. I saw a stack of those who are going to the washer woman before we fix them. I would much rather mend clothing than wash clothes. Mrs. Egerton says the lye that is used in such a process is hard on the skin and the fumes can blind one if too much is used."

"What is in the basket? Is it more work for you to do?"

"Oh no," said Lydia, "Mrs. Egerton showed me how to fix what to her is a simple meal, but never having done a thing in the kitchen before it was most complicated for me, but now I believe I know how to make a stew with leftover scraps of meat, some potatoes, carrots and parsnips. She was impressed at my willingness to work hard for her and says we will make a terrific team. She gave me some of the stew for our meal and two pieces from a pie she made earlier in the week. She also gave me much advice about how to please a husband."

Wickham was intrigued and wondered what could be meant by that.

Lydia continued, "According to her, a husband is most pleased to always have a hot meal in the evening and to come home to a tidy home and happy wife. A wife, if she needs to complain, should wait until her husband has been fed and shared any concerns of his day before she bothers him with her problems. What silly advice! Still I listened as seriously as anything and do you know she quizzed me on that and on other things, to make sure I was paying attention? Still, it was easier to listen to her than to my aunt lecture me about the impropriety of my behavior when all I wanted was to be with you. I know what a husband really wants is . . ." here she paused and carefully looked around. Seeing that there were people nearby she said, "we can talk about that later."

When they reached the privacy of their room, Wickham had barely put the basket down and was just about to lift the covering off to see about sampling the stew (what he could smell of it seemed far more welcome than the bread and cold meat that Lydia had been buying from someone else for their evening meals), when Lydia leapt at him and caught him in a tight embrace. She whispered in his ear, "What a husband really wants is a warm and ready wife."

Wickham had no objection to that, and after such activities he had worked up quite an appetite for the stew and pie.

"You are certainly right that I like that," he opined, "yet a hot meal is quite welcome, too. It does not seem right that a wife should always put her needs behind those of her husband, but a man does like a little time to settle himself after returning home before being subjected to all manner of waiting woes. It would not hurt for you to learn what you can from Mrs. Egerton. After all, you do not have to follow all of her advice."

"I suppose you are right," Lydia declared carelessly, "Yet I must be doing something correctly as you seem to be mostly pleased with me."

"You are doing many things correctly," Wickham exclaimed, embracing Lydia, "and I greatly enjoy coming home to you. It seems the present arrangement with Mrs. Egerton is a good one and for that I am also pleased."


	37. Chapter 36

**This is my second chapter for today.**

On Sunday, the Wickhams sat next to the Egertons at their pew. Wickham ignored the service almost entirely, so caught up was he in his thoughts about the choice that awaited him. He was pleased to note, however, that after the service Mrs. Egerton made a point of introducing Lydia to other respectable ladies. Most of them were young women, but seemed from at least his first impression of them that they were quite respectable. They had a maturity that Lydia lacked, but were not dull. He noticed, too, that Lydia seemed to be emulating Mrs. Egerton in her decorum, modulating her voice for the setting and choosing more appropriate topics for conversation. Wickham was quite pleased to note such a change. He wondered, not for the first time, whether he should just forgo his wish entirely and stay with Lydia right where he was.

That evening, Wickham called upon Mr. Muckingham to ask him some questions. He summoned him simply by calling silently in his head, "Mr. Muckingham, I would like to speak to you." As before, the met in Wickham's room with it looking just as it always did, but in daylight instead of night.

Mr. Muckingham eagerly inquired, "Have you thought better about not seeing what else your wish can offer?"

"No I have not," Wickham replied. "I simply seek the answers to some questions that have troubled me. Is your name really Mr. Muckingham?"

"My name can be anything I wish it to be." Muck answered. "You can choose to be Mr. Darcy and how well you will sound to be addressed as such. A name does not define a person, but certain names engender more respect."

"But what is it really? Rebecca always calls you 'Muck,'" Wickham persisted.

"I am known as Muck, but in this time and era I prefer Mr. Muckingham."

This answer confirmed for Wickham that Rebecca was the more honest of the two, which of course he should have expected. It also occurred to him that he did not know Muck's true form. Muck had chosen a form to display to him, while Rebecca had let him chose the form he would see in the visions, perhaps so he would know that it was not his real form. Wickham imagined that if demons were merely fallen angels, they should look similar to one another. The only sense, however, that he had gotten that he might have glimpsed Muck's form was a darker darkness in his room, and that might have been merely his imagination. He did not imagine that either Satan or demons were how they were depicted in art. The most familiar images of the former was of a beast, often with horns. Wickham thought these depictions were more to scare people into behaving properly rather than to reflect reality.

He decided that if his thoughts were truly protected during this time as belonging to himself alone that it would not do for him to antagonize Muck by referring to him by that name as he might learn more if Muck thought he was still seriously considering letting Darcy die. While Wickham had not completely rejected making this his wish, it did not hold as much appeal as it might have at one time. He realized, _Rebecca's visions have changed me, but whether those changes become permanent or are just a passing aberration is up to me._

"Mr. Muckingham, how is it that in your visions I was able to take the place of myself and act as I desired to do? In the visions Rebecca showed me, I could only observe and not act."

"Things that have occurred in the past, even just a day earlier are fixed until you wish," Muck explained. "Things that will occur in the future may still be molded and in interacting as you did with succulent, sultry Lydia, you did not make any large alteration." Muck calmly lied, providing the most reasonable explanation possible.

"So my interactions with the Lydia of the future were truly with her?"

"Yes," Muck answered. They were in a sense. If Wickham picked the future Muck had offered, all might occur as Muck had shown. However, the reality was that it was Muck that embraced Wickham in the guise of the Lydia that Satan thought Wickham wanted.

Wickham felt a bit reassured and resolved to think on that matter no more. "So I had two different mistresses between when I married Georgiana and when you showed me my future sons?"

"Yes," Muck explained, lying quickly and easily, "while your first mistress was certainly tantalizing and you enjoyed your time with her, by happenstance you met Lydia in London while she was visiting her aunt and uncle. She had no desire to marry an older merchant as her relatives were trying to negotiate and you offered her an alternative arrangement. For a time you had two mistresses set up in two houses, but eventually you decided that was too much trouble and sent off the first with adequate fund to choose a new role in life."

Muck embroidered his explanation in a manner designed to let Wickham see that Wickham was indeed not a bad fellow as he felt that Rebecca had caused Wickham to at least desire the window dressings of respectability. In fact, the idea that Lydia could be Wickham's mistress something Muck came up with spontaneously to combat Wickham's thought that he wished in this new future that Lydia could still be a part of his life.

Muck added, "While you might think that having a mistress is a bit immoral, your passions run to such a high degree that your attentions would be too much for Georgiana if you did not find relief with another. Too, bearing three sons was difficult on her and in this manner you may lessen the likelihood that she become with child for a while, which is a kindness to her and allows her to devote more attention to your sons. She knows you have another lover and it bothers her not in the least."

Muck believed that letting Wickham justify his behavior would make the tale Satan directed more palatable for Wickham, and he was right. Wickham began considering more seriously whether he might want to try for the future that Muck suggested.

"And Lydia, will she not end up with children from me?" Wickham questioned.

"Only if you desire it. There are special teas she takes that lessen the chances of that coming to be. Also, midwives know secrets for keeping a babe from ever quickening. Lydia has no great desire for motherhood."

Wickham was lost for a moment in considering the new life he had been offered anew. It did not seem right, but perhaps he could atone for not risking his neck for the man who hated him for it by performing acts of charity with Pemberley's largess, perhaps funding a foundlings home. Surely that would more than offset any sins he committed.

Wickham thought about little else the next two days. By Wednesday, he had moved on to considering what he should ask of Rebecca and Wednesday evening he called on her to attend them.

As with Muck, she appeared immediately and they seemed to be in Wickham's room.

"May we talk in that forest in Costa Rica again?" Wickham asked, "I should like to see it one final time."

Rebecca nodded and the mist came and went. Wickham could not help but compare how much easier this transition was to that of Muck's visions.

"Is this truly what this place looks like?" Wickham asked.

"Yes," Rebecca responded. "Each time I show you what the rain forest looks like earlier in the day that we visited it. You are fortunate that the rainy season ends in mid-November though of course I could have shown you a day from the previous spring if necessary. While we are here, would you like to see a tapir? One is quite close to here."

"Yes I would," Wickham responded, then following Rebecca a short way. She pointed. Though Wickham rationally knew that there was no need to be quiet, after all they were not really there, he could not help but be silent as he observed the odd creature with dark skin with a bit of fuzzy hair along its spine. It looked to him rather like a pig but for its short elephant style trunk-like nose. It also had rounded ears that reminded him of a bear. The tapir paused and lifted up its nose, sniffing around and moving it in multiple directions This allowed Wickham to see that the underside of its nose was rather pinkish, matching the flesh of its gums around its teeth which were now visible. He then saw the tapir use its nose to grab and tear off some leaves from a nearby tree. He quietly observed it for some time until the tapir ambled off.

"Thank you," he told her, "I have enjoyed the time we have spent here, both today and before."

Rebecca gave him a happy smile. "I am glad you like this place, too," she told him, "God's creation really is a wonder. However, I doubt you called to me simply to experience this particular forest once again."

"You are right," Wickham replied, "but I have enjoyed it nevertheless and will miss seeing it when all of this is over. Though I suppose if I choose the wish that Mr. Muckingham suggests that I might have the funds to visit Costa Rica someday in person."

"That is true," Rebecca responded. Something subtle in Rebecca's expression suggested that she did not like that idea.

"What is bothering you?" Wickham asked.

"I hope you understand that the alternative that Muck has offered you would not necessarily play out the way he has shown you. There are many possible outcomes and permutations of such outcomes if you change everything so drastically. I cannot say that it would not happen the way he has shown you, but it is far from the certainty that he suggested."

She looked sad, "But beyond that, it is a great evil to allow someone to die that you know you could have and did in fact save. His death affects many more than Darcy alone."

She was quiet for a moment and Wickham thought that in that moment she was praying.

After a few moments Rebecca continued, "People as children of God all bear something of his image. At age eleven, you bore it closer than you do now. As it says in Romans 5:7-8, 'For scarcely for a righteous man will one die: yet peradventure for a good man some would even dare to die. But God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.' You risked dying to save your friend, could very well have died, but instead of accepting the ugliness that followed and forging your path forward despite it, you allowed your anger to fester and rot at your soul. You could only save Darcy's body from the destruction of death, but God can save your soul from the external death of sin."

"Perhaps I do not deserve to be saved. Perhaps all I should have is joy in this life and then receive the punishment due me. If I am going to be condemned in any event, why not enjoy myself to the fullest in the meantime?" Wickham suggested.

"No one deserves salvation," Rebecca responded, "none is perfect save one. Jesus, who though blameless, who 'hath done nothing amiss' was crucified and even as he was crucified and dying said, 'Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.' as recorded in Luke 23:41 and 34."

Wickham thought about that a moment. He knew that he was far from blameless, even when but a child. And now, his sins stacked very high indeed.

Rebecca continued, "As explained in Romans 6:23. 'For the wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.' The disciples of God were weak before Jesus appeared to them after his resurrection, Peter denied him thrice as Jesus foretold. However afterwards they were willing to lay down their lives in preaching the good news and asked forgiveness of those who killed them, like Stephen who as he was being stoned to death called upon Jesus to receive his spirit even while he asked God to not charge those who killed him with burden of that sin as recorded in Acts 7:60. Later, a man who witnessed that event, endorsing it, was converted when his figurative blindness was made literal and then when he could see again, he saw the truth of Christ's message. That was the disciple Paul."

Wickham did not like being preached at, but he did feel a bit of hope that he might not be a completely hopeless cause.

"If I make a wish other than the one Muck wants me to, what should it be?" He asked, curious as to what her suggestions might be.

"That is a decision you will need to make for yourself," she responded. "I believe you know other junctures in your life in which a change might be warranted. I will not suggest what you should wish for as I do not know the full effects of what would occur should you make such a change. However, if your intentions are good and you wish to improve, I am confident you can do so and good effects may be felt broadly. You will never be perfect no matter what you do, but you do not need to be."

"Thank you, Rebecca," Wickham told her. "I appreciated the time we had together, but I think I need time to myself now, to think things through."

She nodded and the mist took him back to his bed.

Later that week, as Wickham reflected on all that he had learned and the different advice that Rebecca had given him earlier. She had been full of advice on many occasions as he recalled, advice that at the time he did his best to ignore. He did not feel like following much of it now, either.

Rebecca told him that he needed to trust in God and rely on His strength as Wickham could not change himself on his own. He remembered specifically she had told him, "When you need wisdom, when you doubt, when you require help in making a decision, seek Him through prayer and the reading of his word. Consult with those that you know follow him. When you do so, Muck's lies will become apparent." She also told him, there were people in his life who have wanted to help him but he typically rejected their help.

It had been shortly after that when Captain Watts and Lieutenant Egerton had approached him about arranging for Lydia to work on mending with Mrs. Egerton. So far, this had been nothing but a grand success and Wickham did feel grateful that Lydia was no longer bored and needing to seek attention during the day in all the wrong places. This had greatly benefited him.

Too, Wickham recalled that Egerton seemed to see straight into his Wickham's own heart. He had told him frankly that he believed Wickham preferred strong drink, gambling and whoring to honest work. He guessed quite accurately that he was paid for the posting by someone in his wife's family and should now take this opportunity as a married man to settle down and work hard. In the last few days, though Wickham had been distracted by the decision he needed to make, he had applied himself and Egerton had seemed pleased with him and how Wickham's performance reflected on him. Egerton had even gone so far as to tell Wickham that if he kept working as he had, that he should be free of Captain Watts particular interest.

Wickham did not know Egerton well, but Egerton had treated him fairly and helped him out tremendously by having his wife take on the responsibility of supervising Lydia and educating her in wifely skills. The Egertons had been generous in each day in sending Lydia home with a proper dinner for the two of them.

Wickham thought, _Perhaps, Egerton is one whose advice I should seek._ From what he could gather, Egerton took church and God seriously. Wickham had never had many friends. In the militia and elsewhere there were people who may have thought of Wickham as their friend, such as Denny, but Wickham always held something back, never told them what was in his heart or his true plans. Instead he enjoyed their company and looked for ways to exploit their friendship while he had it. Perhaps Egerton as his superior could not be one, but Wickham resolved he should see whether he might not learn something from him by seeking his advice and being honest with him. He could not help but long for a true friend, as Darcy had with Mr. Bingley.

The next morning Wickham asked Egerton if he might not have time to give Wickham advice later. Egerton considered for a moment and said, "I will send word to my wife that I have invited you and Lydia to stay for dinner tonight and you have accepted. We can then have some time to talk to each other afterwards."

That evening, instead of taking Lydia home Wickham arrived for dinner. Lydia was in a good mood. She told him, "It will be ever so nice to talk with the Egertons and later Mrs. Egerton without having to work. It was fun to cook a grand dinner with her, as well."

Wickham, who had barely talked to Mrs. Egerton earlier, found her to be a good hostess and set a fine table. Of course he had already sampled her cooking previously, but she had cooked a more elaborate meal for them to share. The two little girls joined their table and it was a merry party and Wickham enjoyed himself. He had almost forgotten the purpose of the visit when the meal ended and Egerton suggested they keep with the tradition of the separation of the sexes for the evening. Neither Lydia nor Mrs. Egerton had the slightest objection and were already animatedly talking when the men exited.

"What is it that you want advice on Wickham?" Egerton lost no time in getting to the point. This was the way he was when they worked during the day. Wickham liked his no-nonsense approach and that he did not believe in prettying things up.

"I want to change, I am trying to change, to be a better man, the husband my wife deserves, but it is harder than I anticipated. Someone has suggested that I need to rely on God to help me change, but I am not sure that I want to do that," Wickham confessed. "I am so used to acting just as I want to without any consideration for others that it is strange to be burdened with a wife and responsibilities that I cannot just walk away from on a whim."

"Change is not easy," Egerton acknowledged, "and your friend is right that you cannot do it alone. Relying on God is helpful, but relying on other people is helpful as well."

"I am grateful for all you and your wife have done by taking on responsibility for Lydia during the day. I have already seen many positive changes in her. It seems that it may be easier for her to change than for me to do the same."

"Lydia is not a bad sort," Egerton told him, "she just needs guidance and to mature. She is not too proud to work. She can be an asset to you. I am already thinking that we may have gotten the better part of the bargain, though the meals my wife has been sending home with her are probably equivalent to what her wages for mending would be. But my wife has grown fond of her and her society is certainly welcome."

Egerton considered further before he added, "I am happy to take on a similar role for you, Wickham. I want you to succeed. If you will let me, I will try to give you sound advice if I think you need it and you should feel free to ask for it. Is there anything in particular troubling you right now?"

Wickham wanted to share with Egerton, but he knew it would sound as if he was insane and should be bound for Bedlam if he told him about his adventures with Rebecca and Muck. So instead he said, "I have been struggling with a bit of a moral dilemma. I have been offered an opportunity to change my life which could benefit me greatly, but would be harmful to others. However, no one but myself would ever know what I had done."

Wickham planned to say more on the topic, but Egerton responded without needing to reflect.

"The fact that you consider it a dilemma shows that God has already been speaking to you. If you had no conscience, you would not see it as a dilemma. You know what is right. Just because a sin is hidden, does not mean that it is not a sin. You know what you should do."

"You are right," Wickham told him.

They then talked about other things. When they were walking back to rejoin the ladies, Egerton patted him on the shoulder and said, "I have faith in you that you can make the right choices and will do so. I am here if you need me and I am glad you sought me out to guide you."

Wickham felt more at peace that night.


	38. Chapter 37

**This is my third chapter for today. When Wickham attends the church service, the quoted words are part of the optional and mandatory parts of order of service in the 1662 Book of Common Prayer.**

After the week passed, Rebecca and Mr. Muckingham appeared to him late at night while he lay awake with his eyes closed. "I know now what I want my wish to be," Wickham announced to them. He felt clarity and certainty; he was finally confident in his choice.

Rebecca looked at him with both hope and fear in her eyes.

Muck looked to be without any trepidation and completely self assured. He said, "Wickham, as soon as you make your wish you will get everything you deserve as you should have."

Wickham thought, _I know I did not deserve what happened but Darcy does not deserve to die for his sins or mine, he does not deserve to die to benefit me. We all have evil in our hearts but one. I do not deserve Lydia, she deserves more than me and yet, somehow, she put her faith in me. I will not let it be ill-deserved, I cannot._

"Before I announce my decision, there are a few thing I need to do to prepare to leave this life behind in the right way," Wickham said calmly. "There is a letter or two I must write."

"There is nothing you need do," Muck said, crossing his arms and giving a slightly sour look, "no one you need to justify yourself to. No one needs any explanation. They do not deserve it and it would be pointless as once you make your wish this world as you know it will fall away."

Wickham crossed his arms in return and straightened himself up. He asserted calmly, "Nevertheless, it is not your decision to make, Muck."

Wickham noticed Muck looked annoyed. Wickham wondered if it was because of his general attitude, calling him "Muck" instead of "Mr. Muckingham" or just because he suddenly saw a reason to be less confident.

Then Wickham's eyes drifted over to Rebecca. She looked more hopeful now and her hope made her lovelier. Wickham idly wondered whether his new sister Jane's whole countenance was more beatific now that she had captured the heart of Mr. Bingley, he made his addresses and was accepted.

Rebecca gave him a slight nod and the barest of smiles.

Wickham directed his next words to Rebecca, "You told me that this is my choice, mine alone, though I know you want me to do what is right because that is what would be best for me."

He looked back at Muck when he added, "I will do what I think I should regarding my life, not what you think I should do. Not what would most benefit you and the one you serve."

He then looked at both of them. "I will be ready to tell you tomorrow night, after Lydia is asleep."

Muck made an annoyed noise and grumbled to himself indistinctly before giving a curt nod and then vanished.

Rebecca gave him a smile, took his outstretched hand (that he had not even realized he held out toward her) and gave it a squeeze between her two smaller hands. She looked up at him with such hope. "I have been praying that you would see things clearly and it seems that you have. I am glad I will have the chance to see you one more time."

"Good night," he told her.

She nodded and smiled once more; then Wickham was blinking and found himself back in his own bed.

It was full night and Lydia was lying on her side, turned away from him. Wickham turned on his side toward her and snuggled against Lydia, wrapping his left arm around her waist. Feeling a bit sentimental, he thought, _Everything will change tomorrow night; I should enjoy being with my dear, sweet wife while I still can._ The idea of not being married to her was strange. He gave her a light kiss on the cheek and then ran his hand down her side. He placed gentle kisses along the side of her face down the column of her neck. Her skin tasted sweet and he thought she had likely had a bath that day. It made him think about how the rest of her might taste.

Wickham wondered how deeply Lydia was sleeping. She seemed especially tired these days and he was trying to be more considerate of her than he was wont to be earlier in their marriage. Lately, with all the deep thoughts he had in his mind, Wickham had been intimate with Lydia less than when they were initially married. He considered just how long and was surprised to calculate that it had been three days. But now, tonight, though he had decided his future he wanted to forget about all of that for a while, to touch and taste, to hear the sounds of delight from her that no one else ever had, to be together, against and within her. He felt his desire and hoped he might raise a similar desire in her, if only his kisses were enough to rouse her.

Fate or perhaps God smiled upon him as he heard her give a little sigh of pleasure and rouse enough to turn toward him. Their lips found each other and they drank deeply of each other. That night their loving was sweet and unhurried but came to a passionate conclusion. At the end they clung to each other, not willing to admit it was over and Wickham felt tears collect in his eyes. He could not help by compare how it felt being intimate with the Lydia of Muck's vision compared with the real one. The first encounter certainly had plenty of physical pleasure but he preferred this more recent encounter as it was about far more. _Could this really be the last time we love each other this way?_ He asked himself.

As was to be expected given the lateness of the hour, he drifted off to sleep even as he tried to remain awake and savor the feeling he felt just then.

When the morning came, Wickham was pleased it was Sunday and he was not expected to work. Attending church, he usually just found as a useful way to let his mind drift. So long as he made sure to complement Lydia on her dress and appearance, she did not demand much of him but his arm to escort her on their walk there. She was eagerly greeting other people, anxious to get a bit of gossip from those she was now too busy to see on a regular basis, curious to see how people were turned out and the like. As had become their practice, now they sat with the Egertons.

Wickham made a genuine effort on this occasion to pay attention to the church service. It was the third Sunday of Advent and he felt different now about the approach of Christmas than he had before. Although the lessons drifted over him without him giving them adequate attention, somehow the singing of the Te Deum Laudemus was heard differently by him.

The church at Newcastle was the first one he had attended in which these words were sung rather than spoken and he imagined both methods must be permissible in the Book of Common Prayer. He knew the words of course; all did and he could have probably said them with unfailing accuracy even if half asleep or drunk, but they were just sounds and had been for a long time. Now, though, when he sang "O Lord, have mercy upon us, have mercy upon us, O Lord, let thy mercy lighten upon us, as our trust is in thee" he was truly asking this for himself with all the others singing it.

During the singing of the Apostle's Creed when he sang the list of beliefs which included "forgiveness of sins" he listened anew. His ears paid attention to and picked up on all the other times during the prayers where the requests for mercy and forgiveness were repeated again and again. He heard the words, as if for the first time.

When the minister intoned, "O Lord, shew thy mercy upon us" and he answered in unison with the rest of the congregation, "And grant us thy salvation" he was indeed sending up a fervent prayer and desiring its answer.

That afternoon Wickham wrote his letters, trusting that He would understand why he was working on something on His day. First he wrote to Darcy.

 _Dear Darcy,_

 _I remember when we were almost brothers and then when it all changed. I have resented you for far too long, blamed you for everything, and tried to make your life miserable and take everything I could get from you and those that belonged to you. In the end, I was the one who ended up miserable. That ends today._

 _You did wrong me, but I wronged myself, too, when I allowed that to define my life. I wronged many people along the way, did far more evil to far more people than you. Your harsh treatment of me was an aberration from your general character and I know that all the evil you believed of me I have more than fulfilled._

 _In looking back at that day when I saved you from drowning, there were times that I considered what my life would have been like if I had let you drown. Would my life have been better with you not around? I do not know, but I know it would be a betrayal to the boy I was who fought for his friend to even think such a thought. The boy I was saved you not for praise, accolades, your love or even to please your father, but because of the love he had for you. I wish I could be like that boy again._

 _You have returned good for my evil many times, paying off my debts and arranging for my current commission so that I might have yet another fresh start funded by you. Tomorrow will be a new beginning for me and I plan to take full advantage of the opportunities that I have been given. So, though you have never apologized or tried to right that wrong you did me, I forgive you._

 _By now Elizabeth must be Mrs. Darcy. Earning her love is a special feat. I am sure she will adore Pemberley. You do not deserve her, but then neither do I deserve Lydia. Being wed to one of the Bennet sisters can only better you and improve your life. I ought to know._

 _With all sincerity and best wishes for your future happiness._

 _George Wickham_

Wickham knew there was no time for such a letter to reach Darcy, but that was not really the point. Darcy would be fine with or without his forgiveness. It was he, Wickham, who needed to forgive and be forgiven.

Next Wickham wrote to Lydia to ask for her forgiveness.

 _Dear Lydia,_

 _My darling wife, you have had such faith in me which I ill deserved. I have treated you as a play thing, made many choices that could have resulted in disastrous consequences to you. I was selfish and childish yet somehow you still care for me, love me even. I do not deserve your love. Please forgive me for all the ways that I have wronged you._

 _I am not sure when it happened, but you have captured my heart. I love you my darling. I know I have said these words before, to you and others to obtain whatever I wanted in that moment, but I feel them now, quite deeply in fact. This is something I should have been telling you every day._

 _I am still grateful that you picked me and stayed resolute in that decision, little that I deserved such loyalty. I know you have made great sacrifices to be with me and I acted as if it was of little import that you gave up your home and the society of all you hold dear to be with me. I have been so proud in seeing how hard you have worked to learn the skills many of these other women have known for many a year._

 _I am not worthy of you, but I wish to be._

 _Please know if starting over again I would single you out for my admiration from the beginning of our acquaintance and would court you in the manner you deserved to be courted. And then, when you were truly ready to be a wife rather than rushed into it by circumstances, I would marry you in front of all of your family and friends, and find a way for us to live near your family as I have no family to offer you besides myself._

 _When you told me about your birth, the part of the story that has stayed with me the most is when you told me that once your mother got a hold of you and knew you were hers, she would not let you go. I, too, having gotten a hold of you have learned that you are mine and will never let you go. Too, I am yours forever._

 _You make me want to be better that I am._

 _Love,_

 _George_

Unlike Darcy, Lydia was right there and Wickham pondered whether he should let her read the missive, given what he planned to do. In the end, though, he decided he should.


	39. Chapter 38

**This is my fourth and final chapter for today, which concludes this story. Enjoy.**

Lydia was folding their clothes when Wickham approached with the folded letter in his hand. Shyly, he extended his hand and the letter to her and as she took it gave her an intense look before retreating outside while making an excuse of wanting to see whether they might get rain soon. He felt himself a coward but could not bear to be in the room with her and see her react as she read.

It could not have been more two minutes later when Lydia flew out the door and nearly collided with Wickham where he paced outside. Oblivious to all propriety when out in public, she threw her arms about him and held him tight, her face nestled into his neck. "Oh, George, I was sure that sooner or later you would feel for me as I do for you."

As they walked back inside together, Lydia kept speaking, many words tumbling out. "Most of the time our life has been a delightful adventure, though being married is not what I expected. Oh, George, I finally feel that I can tell you what I have suspected, that Mrs. Egerton confirms must be likely."

By this time they were back in their chambers and they flopped down onto their bed, holding each other tight while Lydia continued to speak. "I was afraid you might be mad that it has happened so quickly, but I think that I am with child. I do not suppose it should be much of a surprise given how you hardly left me alone in London or here (though I enjoy that part of married life far more than most women from what I can gather)."

Lydia finally paused and Wickham was able to react. "Oh Lydia, my darling!" Lydia's recent tiredness finally made sense to him. "Have you been ill at Mrs. Egerton's?" He searched her face for signs of physical distress.

"Fortunately no," she answered, but her tentative smile seemed to be covering some distress, though not necessarily in how her body was feeling.

"A baby is wonderful news," he told her, though he was not sure that was really the case and knew the extra expense would be difficult. "Are you upset to be with child?" He searched her face.

"I always knew that once I married children could follow at any time. I should not be surprised. However, I do not feel ready to be a mother," Lydia confided, "I know so little about how to be one. I wish I lived near my mother so she could help me. I know Mrs. Egerton and the other women here will help me, but it is not the same. Yet, I cannot but take joy from the idea that our love is even now forming a little one within me."

Wickham did not know how to feel. From Rebecca's vision of what could be, he knew this first child could become a prostitute in London. Should he stay here, not wish for anything and work on the future before him? Men typically did not have the choice he was offered. He considered and considered. Would he have the strength to truly change his future in this setting?

That evening after Lydia easily fell asleep, when Wickham was in the twilight between sleep and wakefulness, half dreaming and half imagining what his new future might be like if indeed he took it, Rebecca and Muck came. Rebecca gave him an encouraging smile. While Muck also smiled and did his best to look pleasant, it seemed as if a scowl was lurking behind his smile.

"My understanding," Wickham began, "is that my wish can really only change the course of my own life and there are no guarantees about how anyone else will react to any change I make in my own life."

Rebecca nodded, "That is true. Sometimes people do not react to our actions as we expect."

Wickham nodded; it was what he he understood from his previous conversation with Rebecca; he was curious, however, as to what Muck would say about the matter.

"But," Muck was quick to add, "knowing what you know of someone can make you predict how they will react to a given situation, and the better you know them, the more accurate your prediction should be. Even when you acted to fulfill all your desires, which is what all men are entitled to do, Mr. Darcy always loved you. How much more would he have loved you if his son perished through his own foolishness and you cultivated the love he bore for you in such a situation? All I have shown you and more can come to be."

But Wickham was not thinking about Mr. Darcy the elder when he asked his questions. He was thinking about Lydia and whether he could still win her if he was not a dashing soldier. He supposed he could only hope that she would still wish to be with him, that he could still gain her love if he acted in a more upright and prudent manner.

Wickham said, "I am resolved on what my wish should be, I just want to get the wording right and make sure I understand the effect of what I am wishing for. Rebecca, if I request to go back to a certain point in my life will I still be able to court and win Lydia's hand when the timing is right? Will I remember all that has occurred so as to be able to follow through on what my desire is?"

"Why should you want to choose a boring and pedestrian life?" Muck exclaimed and questioned in disbelief. "Has Rebecca made such a fool of you? This is all just a game for her, a way to score points with her master."

Before Rebecca could even respond, Wickham came to her defense. "Muck, you are the one who tried to make a fool of me. Perhaps you are right that if I let Fitzwilliam drown all those years ago that I could have married Georgiana and become the master of Pemberley, but I cannot but imagine you carefully hid from me how I would feel in such a situation, knowing that I could have saved her brother and did not do so."

Wickham gave a little sigh then, "As much as I have hated Darcy over these many years, I know he dearly loved his sister and she him. I cannot in good conscience take away from her one family member who remained to love her when she was left an orphan. I would feel guilty every time I looked at her and knew what I had done. Georgiana is a sweet girl, but she is not one who I could make happy or would embrace me if she understood the depravity present in my soul. When I attempted to elope with her it was not because I truly desired to be married to her but because I wanted her fortune. You would have me be the sort of cold-hearted bastard who treated her as the very piece of property that her father would never want her to be."

He thought for a moment more and then added to himself, _And likely, Georgiana would be the sort of proper young society woman who would be passive in the marital bed, unlike my dear, sweet, passionate and unrestrained Lydia._

"I might have every material advantage from such a marriage, but there would be no love for either of us. I want more than that for myself and her."

Rebecca spoke then. "When your wish is granted you will not retain the full memories for what occurred after that point in your life forever. Such detailed knowledge of an alternative future is not good for man. As your new future diverges from this one, the very way your brain functions and remembers is altered by your experiences. You will not be the same Wickham that you are now, but I think if (after you go to that point in your past where it will diverge from your present life) you almost immediately write down what is most important for you to know so that you can refer to it later and follow through on your plans once your memories of this whole experience have faded, such a writing could guide you. However, it will be up to the you of the new future if you follow such plans or not."

"If I forget too much and start to go wrong, can you please be with me and guide me in such an event?" Wickham asked.

"I cannot make you do anything and I doubt I would be permitted to have the kind of discussions we have had, but I will ask."

Wickham watched as Rebecca looked distant for a few moments. "It seems that I can assist you a bit more than a typical guardian angel, but only if things go quite wrong."

"It will have to be enough," Wickham declared. "Very well. I wish to genuinely study the law when I request and accept the 3,000 pounds from Darcy in lieu of the living (having let go of all resentment against Darcy and losing my taste for the vices I turned to out of such resentment), and to follow through on such a desire to become an attorney, so that can establish myself in a manner where I will be able to court and win Lydia's hand when the timing is right."

A feeling of satisfaction and contentment fell over Wickham.

He saw the moment that Muck understood that he had lost and anger blazed in his eyes. In contrast, Rebecca gave a wide smile that made her the loveliest she had ever been. Wickham imagined that her actual form was glowing with happiness.

Wickham knew that this was not the end of his life story. Choosing right was not a one-time event and he was not even sure that choosing to change his past was really the best choice that he could make. Probably staying right where he was and being a better man right here in Newcastle was really the right choice. While he might now be improved to how he had been before Rebecca and Muck entered his life, Wickham knew he would still struggle with sin like every other man. He knew that he still wanted to be in charge of his own life and was not ready to just put all his trust in God; perhaps he would get there someday, but that day was not yet here.

A loud voice boomed, "IT IS DONE." Wickham had only a moment to wonder, _Was that God?_ Then all went black and Wickham opened his eyes in his past.

The End.

 **There will be a follow up story to this one about how this change alters everyone's lives called Wickham's Wish. I am not going to start this story immediately as I need to finish my Persuasion story first.**


End file.
